


My Body is a Cage (That Keeps Me from Dancing with the One I Love)

by everyday_forever



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, Dark will is just canon will let's be real here, Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gay yearning, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 03, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter's Trial, Hannibal's Trial, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Husbands, Mutual Pining, POV Will, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Pre-Episode: s03e08 The Great Red Dragon, Slow Burn, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Will Graham Helps Himself, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, canon-divergence, hannibal's imprisonment, no great red dragon arc, no molly foster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyday_forever/pseuds/everyday_forever
Summary: Picking up after Season3Episode7: Digestivo, Hannibal has turned himself in and Will struggles with the conflicting emotions of hating Hannibal while also aching for him. Will is forced to testify as Hannibal is tried and sentenced before the court for his crimes. But what if instead of winning his insanity defense and getting the protection of the BSHCI, Hannibal was found both sane and ultimately guilty, thereby subjecting him to the death penalty? Can Will survive an outcome such as this? Or will he take matters into his own hands to ensure Hannibal's escape?
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Jimmy Price/Brian Zeller, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 181
Kudos: 305





	1. Genesis

Will groaned as a loud banging at the door startled him from the dense fogginess of the sleep he was so rarely afforded. He ran his hands tiredly over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process. His dogs barked loudly at the door, whimpering to be let out to greet the stranger at the door. Will squinted his eyes at the door, trying to make out the shape of the figure on the other side of the door. A tall, broad silhouette was outlined on the other side of the curtain at the door. _Jack_ , Will though miserably. Then, a weight dropped like a stone in his stomach as he realized that the day had finally come. Will's heart clenched and bile rose in his throat. His breath began to quicken and he could feel cold sweat begin to bead on his forehead. However, before he could travel too far down this guilt spiral, Jack banged on the door in quick succession once again.

  
"Will!" he barked, "We don't have all damn day. Open the fucking door." Jack was clearly not in the mood for Will to drag his feet any longer, so he kicked off his covers and stalked over the door, opening it to find a stern-looking Jack dressed in his usual black suit courtroom attire, the bland, pasty beige tie boring holes in Will's eyes. _Hannibal would never wear a tie so ugly_ …

  
"You look like you're dressed for a funeral, Jack" Will ground out irritably at him, refusing to make eye contact with him.

  
"I am. Once this case is over, he's dead to me. And he better be dead to you too. Now take a damn shower and try to make yourself look presentable. I'm not letting your credibility come into question because you look like you haven't slept in years and smell like wet dog." Jack's words had a bite but Will could feel the tendrils of concern reaching towards him and he couldn't bear it. He didn't deserve it. Feeling such concern directed at him was enough for the tell-tale sign of anxiety to start creeping back in so he coughed roughly before pulling open the door further.

  
"Yeah, right. Make yourself at home" he tried to manage a small smile as he gestured towards his humble living room but all that flashed across his face was a pained grimace. Jack brushed past him and sat near the fireplace, his eyes roaming about the room before settling on the several empty bottles of whiskey and glasses strewn about the floor next to Will's bed. Unable to face the look Jack was bound to give him, Will turned and left the room quickly, making his way upstairs to shower.

The warm water felt like a luxury he didn't deserve. Will growled irritably at himself as he switched the water to its coldest setting, shaking and gasping as the freezing water hit his skin. He didn't care. He wouldn't let himself care. He knew the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and he knew they rarely saw fit to provide warm water for a shower they were unlikely to get on a regular basis anyway. He knew Hannibal was bound for that godforsaken place. The thought of Hannibal suffering there was somehow both too much and not enough.

Will washed quickly, a habit formed by his own time in the BSHCI and his general lack of self-care. He stood at himself in front of the mirror, wet curls clinging to his forehead and water dripping down his face. His eyes stared blankly back at him, devoid of emotion. He ran a hand over the scar on his stomach, knowing this he had deserved too. He had paid then but he felt that now, somehow, he would pay even more this time as Hannibal would be separated from him. He glanced up at the scar on his forehead and swallowed as he felt the ghost pressure of the bone saw against his skin, the cool metallic blade sending shivers down his spine. _Even now, you would still go to him?_ Abigail's voice echoed in his head and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of contradictory emotions that rose within him. _No_ , he told himself as his heart simultaneously whispered _yes_. Will shook his head at himself. It had to be no. The time for their separation had come and there was nothing he could do to stop it, even if he wanted to. He ran a towel through his hair before combing it back. His gaze lingered once again on the angry red scar on his forehead, still too fresh to have turned white. He debated covering it. He did not.

When Will finally made his way back downstairs, the man Jack had seen upon entering the house was not the man who stood before him now. Beard freshly trimmed, hair combed neatly to the side and back, and dressed in a fine black suit, white button down and dark green tie, he looked healthy. But Jack noticed with a twinge of sadness that his eyes were still dead. A fearful combination of depression, anger, and heartbreak buried beneath denial and self-loathing. His eyes betrayed him as a man who felt he had nothing to live for.

Will snatched up his glasses from the nightstand beside his bed and put them on before glancing to Jack.

  
"Coffee?" he asked him gruffly. Jack nodded, grateful for the distraction from the pain he saw in his eyes. Will rummaged around in the kitchen before eventually walking back to Jack with two travel mugs of coffee. Jack took one gratefully and stepped to the door. He walked to the car and turned the key over, warming up the car while waiting for Will.

Will made sure his dogs were fed and paused at the door. He turned to look over his shoulder, towards his bed.

  
 _"Should we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?" Hannibal asked._ Will could see him sitting in the chair by his bed so clearly he was almost sure it was real. He swallowed as the storm of complicated feelings began to rage in his head once more before being startled out of it by a sudden wetness on his hand. He looked down to see Winston licking at his hand, a habit he had taken to recently when he picked up on Will's mounting anxiety. Will did manage a slight smile this time, scratching Winston behind the ears before the smile quickly fell as he heard Jack honking impatiently. Will locked the door behind himself and braced himself against the cold of the falling snow.


	2. Baltimore District Court

Will swirled the remaining dregs of his coffee, now cold, nervously as Jack pulled into the parking lot of the United States District Court of Maryland. The cold white exterior of the building, bland with its rows of windows and concrete steps, lacked all of the pomp and circumstance that would be expected of anything that would ever involve Hannibal. There were no arches, no detailed marble carvings, and no golden accents. It was bureaucracy in all of its glory and just the sight of it made Will want to split his head open against the wall. Jack turned off the car and cleared his throat awkwardly.

  
“Listen, Will-” he started but Will shook his head quickly.

  
“No, Jack. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.” Will squinted outside the car window through the sunlight, searching for something else to focus on besides Jack’s irritating concern.

  
“Will, I just want to make sure you’re in the right headspace for this. You haven’t seen the man in months and the last time I saw you two together before I arrested him, he was cutting your damn head open!”

  
Will didn’t reply, opting instead to ignore the twist in his stomach that Jack’s words brought on. He threw open the car door and stepped outside into the crisp Baltimore air. He drew his black peacoat over his shoulders and wound a dark blue scarf around his neck. He glanced up at the clear blue skies and couldn’t help but noting how unfair it was, that the skies weren’t as stormy as his thoughts.

  
“Will,” Jack’s voice drew him out of his reverie. Will glanced towards Jack and Jack jerked his head towards the courthouse and Will groaned inwardly as his eyes settled on the rather large group of reporters and cameras that were swarming by the doors. _Fuck_.

  
“Jack? Will?” an inquisitive voice asked behind them, and they turned to see Alana walking toward them, one hand clutching her cane and the other wrapped steadfastly around Margot’s hand. Will tipped his head slightly upwards in recognition but felt no desire to engage in conversation with either of them. He knew that Alana had been instrumental in securing his life (and face) from the clutches of Cordell and Mason, but in all honesty he didn’t have it in him to forgive her for all her past slights against him- not believing him about Hannibal, sleeping with Hannibal, hunting them down in Italy…

  
Alana smiled wryly, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. Will glanced at her, taking in her smart plaid pantsuit, low cut black shirt and stony gaze. She’s changed too. Hannibal changed us all. _Made us in his image_ , he thinks, mulling the thought over in his head, tasting it in curiosity. He couldn’t help but wonder what she would be willing to do now, for Margot, for herself, for revenge. He could basically feel the revenge settled deep within her chest, locked away for safekeeping. This was not the Alana he had once turned to for comfort when he feared the dark recesses of his own mind. No, this Alana was more calculating, cold, and shrewd. She was surely up to something, but what, Will could not name.

  
Will examined these thoughts in his head as he followed Jack towards the courthouse, its shadow looming threateningly over them, the darkness beckoning Will with a heady insistence. The darkness that pulled at his mind only deepened its grasp as his eyes settled on a familiar head of curly red hair. As if she had read his mind with some witchy ability, Freddie turned her head toward the approaching party and started clicking her camera in rapid succession, the flashes grabbing the attention of the other reporters so that within seconds, cameras were trained on all of them and reporters pressed in against them on all sides.

  
Will was immediately overwhelmed by the flashes, questions yelled in his direction, and the distracting feelings of curiosity he could pick up from the forty or so people that crowded their pathway to the doors.

  
“Mr. Graham, how do you feel knowing that you have been credited with the arrest of Hannibal Lecter?”

  
“Mr. Graham, over here! Are we correct in assuming you’re in support of Dr. Lecter being given the death penalty for his crimes?”

  
“Will, how do you feel knowing he’s paying for his crimes alone while you’re out here, going unpunished for your own murders?” This last question came from Freddie and Will felt a rage well within him and he longed to lash out at her and tear her to shreds himself. Alana and Jack must have noticed his clenched fists and Alana annoyingly swooped in to tell the press no comments would be made at this time while Jack bellowed at the crowd to move out of the way.

  
They finally made their way through the throngs of the crowd and through the doors and Will quickly walked towards the bathroom once he had the chance. He closed a stall door behind him and quickly shed his coat, scarf, and suit jacket, yanking his tie loose. He took several steadying breaths and ran his hands over his face. _I can’t do it, I can’t do it_. The thought of seeing Hannibal again, for the first time in about eight months was too much to bear. The last glimpse he had of Hannibal was as he knelt in the snow outside of Will’s house with his hands behind his head, his eyes fixated on Will as he assured him that Will would always know where to find him. Will saw this very image every day- in his dreams when he managed to sleep, the first thing he saw when he woke, and every time he closed his eyes.

  
“Will?” he heard Alana call as she knocked softly on the bathroom door. He rolled his eyes.

  
“What, Alana?” he tried to snap, but it only came out pathetically exhausted.

  
“May I come in, Will?” she asked, a little of her old kindness apparent in her voice once again. He didn’t answer, but that was hardly uncharacteristic of him, so she slowly opened the door anyway and came inside, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. Will opened the stall door and looked at her.

  
“What, Alana?” he asked tiredly. She looked him over, concern flashing through her eyes before she steeled herself against it. She had finally learned he would not respond well to pity.

  
“Will, there’s something I need to tell you” she began, her blue eyes scanning his face as she spoke.

  
“Will! Let’s go! We were due in court five minutes ago” Jack barked sharply from the other side of the door. Will sighed gratefully, not in the mood for Alana’s emotional bullshit. He re-tied his tie, pulled his suit jacket on, and folded his coat neatly over his arm. He brushed back his hair, adjusted his glasses, and stalked out of the door, leaving Alana behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm going to be updating as I go along, I have no idea how long it will end up being, but I have a lot planned for it! Bear with me (I'm a busy college student) but I won't abandon it!


	3. Did You Just Smell Me (Again)?

The courtroom was packed. Jack strode in confidently, his head held high now that he had regained all his former reputation and then some since Hannibal’s arrest. Will followed in Jack’s shadow reluctantly, his eyes fixated on the monotonous multicolored carpet that reminded him of television static. He tried his hardest to ignore the hush that fell over the room as the rows upon rows of people in the courtroom noticed him. Despite his best efforts, their whispers carried and he knew they were talking about him, accusing him of a creative variety of crimes. But only one word echoed in Will’s head. _Traitor. Traitor. Traitor._

  
Will bit his lip, trying to focus on the pain as a reminder of where he was. He needed to be present. He couldn’t go inside his head, not today. Hannibal was not here. Not yet. Will had not glanced towards the defendant’s bench but he knew instinctively that he was not in the courtroom. He couldn’t feel Hannibal, and he had always been able to somehow.  
Jack took a seat in the front row behind the prosecution, and Will followed with conflicting feelings. Part of him longed to stare Hannibal down as he was brought to justice, but he equally longed to just slit the throat of the judge and everyone in this courtroom if it meant killing Hannibal himself. _Hannibal beneath him, gasping for breath as Will tightens his grip on his neck, pressing his knees down harshly on his thighs_...Another vision takes over, _Hannibal slaughtering Jack, Alana, the judge, before turning to Will with an elated smile, blood splattered across his face, falling from his lips… he walks towards Will, hands him the knife and Will stabs a guard blocking the courtroom exit, the knife sinking so far in the man’s chest, Will can fill the hot blood congeal thickly on his hand before he yanks the knife out again… Hannibal grabs his forearm, pulling him towards the exit and they break into a run…_

  
The sound of Alana’s metal cane bumping against the wooden bench as she rests it next to her jerks Will back to attention. Will takes a moment to truly study their surroundings. In all his years’ experience as a cop and even some as an expert witness, he had never seen a courtroom so full. They had stopped admitting the public, but the last several rows of the courtroom seemed to be reporters. Freddie sat amongst this group, smoothing her bright pink blazer down her sides in a pathetic attempt to appear professional. Scowling, Will moved towards the middle of the courtroom and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. There was Georgia Madchen’s mother… he had met her once, before Hannibal burned her daughter alive. She had been so lost, so heartbroken and confused. He remembered she had said she was relieved when her daughter was sedated… _was she now glad her daughter was dead?_ The next person his eyes settled on made his heart stop in his chest. There was a girl, maybe about 18 and she looked so much like Beverly… his eyes slid over to the older people beside her and realized they both looked incredibly sad, the man had his eyes fixed on his hands folded in his lap and the woman was resting her head on the man’s shoulder, her eyes staring blankly ahead. Beverly- _no, not Beverly_ \- made eye contact with him and narrowed her eyes. Will looked away quickly. He hadn’t known Beverely had a sister. She had never shared much about her personal life. Will had liked that about her.

  
Will quickly realized that the vast majority of the courtroom was occupied by the victims’ families. They all radiated a potent mixture of rage and depression. Will could empathize, naturally. Looking across these faces- some familiar, most not- he couldn’t help but feel guilty of these crimes too, as if each murder Hannibal committed, Will was guilty of too. He could also feel his own rage resurface. But the rage was familiar, comfortable even. At least with rage he knew what he was feeling was right. Good, even. Right? _No.._.spoke an argumentative voice in Will’s head. His eyes found Bedelia next, _fuck you_ , before also seeing Price and Zeller. They appeared to be in some heated argument about something and Kade Prurnell, the FBI director responsible for Will’s own trial, kept shooting them irritated glances before finally shushing them to which Price objected to rather brashly before realizing who he was talking to, which sent Zeller into a fit of silent laughter. Will couldn’t help but smile softly, glad to know that some things hadn’t changed. _Hannibal hadn’t seen fit to change them._

  
A hush, quieter than the one that had been afforded him, fell across the room as a door behind the judge’s bench opened and a guard walked through. Immediately, cameras began flashing, filling the room with dazzling white before several more guards came in, the sound of clanging metal following them. Will’s breath stopped abruptly as his eyes fell on Hannibal, dressed impeccably as ever in a dark navy blue three-piece suit, white collared shirt, maroon tie, and complete with brown oxfords. His eyes immediately settled on Will’s, expression unreadable. Will’s heart stopped too and he felt sure he was going to pass out. Emotions flooded his senses, rage followed quickly by joy, by relief, followed by sadness. Will’s face naturally betrayed none of this, however, and his expression was just as unreadable to Hannibal. Alana looked nervously between them and Jack simply glared at Hannibal. Hannibal looked at each of them as he was led by his cuffed hands to the defendant’s bench. He shared a small smile with Bedelia, and Will shuddered as a quick wave of jealousy rushed through his veins. As if he sensed it, Hannibal looked back at Will, head tilting slightly to the side in interest. His nostrils flared ever so slightly and going red with embarrassment, Will realized Hannibal was breathing in his scent. Hannibal closed his eyes just so, an expression of pure contentment flashed across his face before it just as quickly disappeared. Hannibal was yanked forward by the guards as his handcuffs were locked into the bar on the desk. Despite being cuffed at both his hands and feet, he still had walked with such grace and elegance, as if it were his own office where he and Will had shared so many hours together. As Hannibal faced the front of the courtroom, Will couldn’t help but keep glaring at the back of his head. Hannibal turned his face over his shoulder just slightly and smirked, knowing Will could see him. _Hannibal’s face breaking open beneath his hands as Will punched him mercilessly..._

  
“All rise for the honorable Judge Honesworth…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading everybody!! I have a lot planned for this story so keep with it!!!


	4. Part of Me Will Always Want to Run Away With Him

Silence settled over the courtroom as the judge made his way to his seat at the judge’s bench. After he sat, the rest of the courtroom settled into their seats as well and Hannibal was shoved roughly into a chair by a guard before he had the chance to sit. Hannibal, his hair slightly askew, fixed the guard above him with a piercing stare, a look Will knew all too well as an expression of offense. Undoubtedly, Hannibal was mentally browsing his rolodex to find the perfect recipe for said offender; Will wondered what wine Hannibal would select, and if he’d still want to ask Will to dine with him once again, despite… everything.

The judge motioned to the bailiff, who then turned to open another door. In came an assortment of twelve individuals who shuffled nervously into the Jury Box. Will quickly glanced the jurors over, taking in the wide variation in personalities, races, genders, and ages represented. His eyes were drawn to a young girl, perhaps a mere eighteen or nineteen, who bore striking resemblance to Abigail. Was he doomed to be tortured incessantly by the spectres from his past? _Perhaps I deserve it_. Next to the young girl with her unlucky first jury duty assignment was a man of around 45 who seemed the type to carry a gun on his hip despite not needing it for any immediate purpose, but rather for the sake of “exercising his rights.” Will rolled his eyes internally. The judge clearing his throat jerked Will back to attention.

“Esteemed members of the jury, this is a federal criminal case of the United States Government against the defendant, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Dr. Lecter, as his lawyers have informed me, is entering an excuse plea of insanity. Is the counsel ready to proceed?” Hannibal’s lawyers and the prosecution both gave their assent, but Will didn’t hear them. _Insanity?_ His hands started shaking uncontrollably, though from anger or concern he was not sure. “Will? Are you alright?” Alana whispered beside him, peering at him anxiously. Will glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and nodded, offering a pained half-smile. How had no one told him Hannibal would be using a fucking insanity plea? The idea was ridiculous and Hannibal was bound to lose. _Don’t I want him to lose?_ The traitorous voice in his head, however, told him that this wasn’t quite true. He stubbornly shoved those feelings down though and tried to take steadying breaths. The trial had literally just begun and it was already a farce.

“The time has now come for opening statements.We turn first to the prosecution. You may proceed,” Judge Honesworth gestured towards a woman sitting in front of Will at the prosecution’s bench. She was short in stature, but she carried herself with such confidence that she seemed to tower over the others in the courtroom. Her black hair was pulled behind her head in a severe bun and she wore an expression of grim determination as she approached the jury box. Will was seated at such an angle so that he could see half of Hannibal’s face; from what he could see, Hannibal’s expression was relaxed and only portrayed simple curiosity, perhaps even amusement, as he watched the young prosecutor pass in front of him.

“Distinguished members of the jury,” she began in a commanding voice, “we are gathered here today to hear the case brought against Dr. Hannibal Lecter. His lawyers would have you believe that this man- this incredibly intelligent, distinguished, and successful man- acted out of unadulterated insanity over the past ten years rather than knowingly, willingly, and cleverly murdering seventeen people since his arrival in our country. They would have you buy into the theory that this man of impeccable academic reputation in the very field of psychiatry fell into insanity himself, unbeknownst to his numerous psychiatric colleagues. I am here today to tell you that Dr. Lecter is hardly insane. He committed seventeen known murders over the past ten years, all of which he prepared for with cool and careful precision before then mutilating their corpses, eating their organs, and displaying them in grotesque formations that he would consider art. Dr. Lecter is not insane; he is a highly intelligent psychopath who is hiding behind a plea of insanity in efforts to spare his own life. I ask you, members of the jury, to keep Dr. Lecter’s professional experience and social reputations in mind as you evaluate the extensive evidence against him. You must find the defendant both legally sane and guilty of his federal crimes of murder and desecration of human corpses.” The jury members watched the young woman intently as she straightened her black blazer and turned on her heel. As she passed Hannibal, she met his eyes and tilted her chin ever so slightly in challenge, which only served to make Hannibal smile in appreciation. _Dick._

Will peered behind his glasses at the jury members and saw that several of them were looking nervously at Hannibal, their eyes darting from him quickly whenever he looked their way. They were afraid of him. Terrified in fact. All but the gun-toting man in the front row who looked like he was very likely imagining some romanticized scenario in his head in which he could single-handedly take down Hannibal. As if. The girl next to him- _not Abigail, not Abigail_ \- shifted nervously in her seat and Will couldn’t help but feel a protective impulse surge through him. _Feeling paternal, Will?_ asked the Hannibal in his mind palace.

Hannibal’s lawyer- who sat as far from Hannibal as he could at the small table- stood next, smoothing out his clearly expensive suit in the process. It was no secret that Hannibal had money, and money could buy you the best legal protection there was to offer. The man walked to stand in front of the jury as well.

“Honored members of the jury, I am here today to defend the name of Dr. Lecter against the gross allegations levied against him. Dr. Lecter has always demonstrated throughout his professional and personal relationships that he is a devoted, helpful, and modest man who would never willingly engage in violence, much less premeditated murder. Dr. Lecter is rather a victim of his own mind. He unknowingly fell prey to his diseased mind and did commit crimes of which he remained unaware of until he was charged with them. As several psychiatric experts will attest over the next couple of days, Dr. Lecter, as a result of an untreated disease of the mind, unknowingly committed acts of violence over which he had no control. He was neither in control of his actions, and as a result, did not understand the nature nor quality of his actions. Dr. Lecter is the kind, intelligent, charismatic, and successful man that the prosecution described, and he is the real victim here of a mind that waged war against his body. It is for these reasons you must find Dr. Lecter legally insane and therefore not guilty of the alleged crimes he is charged with.”

The lawyer walked back to his seat and Hannibal nodded slightly at him in recognition. Will couldn’t help but long to take the lawyer’s place at the table next to Hannibal, to be the one defending him. How he longed to see Jack’s shocked expression at Will protecting the man he had turned away from his side just months earlier. _If only I hadn’t_ …

The rest of the day proceeded in an incredibly boring manner as the facts of the case were presented by the prosecution. In totality, Hannibal was being charged with the murder of seventeen people. Seventeen victims of which the FBI was aware of, that is. The prosecutor spent the majority of the afternoon laying the groundwork for evidence of Hannibal’s intelligence with the hopes of eventually convincing the jury that he was conniving enough to fake an insanity plea. Will easily lost track (and interest) in the woman’s words, never having been one to gravitate to Hannibal for his intelligence. Instead, he found his mind wandering frequently to the precarious state his mind was in. He felt as if a war was being waged between his heart and mind as competing voices of hatred for Hannibal and his own desire to be reunited with him vied for his attention. His head was pounding with a severe headache and he was emotionally exhausted.

Yawning tiredly, Will smoothed his hair back and caught Hannibal glancing at him over his shoulder. Hannibal did not smile, but his eyes somehow held a soft expression that only Will would be able to see. Will tilted his head over so slightly to the side in interest. He swallowed thickly and his heart clenched as the guard yanked Hannibal up by the arm roughly, causing a clanging of his cuffs against the desk. Even as he was handled roughly towards the door, their eyes couldn’t leave each other. _Part of me will always want to run away with him..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you for reading!!! I realized how much I DON'T know about how actual court cases work and proceed on a daily basis, so had to throw some research in there. I hope you like it nonetheless! Keep coming back, I've still got a tonnn of ideas!


	5. "Could You Be Happy There?"

Will shot up from the bench as soon as the door leading Hannibal back to his cell closed. Wrapping his scarf snugly around his neck, he pushed past Alana, ignoring Jack’s call to get his attention, and rushed towards the courtroom exit. People began to fill the aisle, and Will suppressed a shiver as he began to see the faces of victims on all sides of him. _Beverley, Georgia Madchen, Marissa Schurr, Abigail_ … their faces started to blur in his mind and he hurriedly elbowed his way through the crowd before finally making it through the doors. He strode out of the courthouse and down the steps before mentally kicking himself for not having had the foresight to avoid the reporters. Those that had not been allowed in to the proceedings immediately caught sight of him and began pressing up on him on all sides, desperately asking him to reveal the sordid details of the case- if Hannibal had looked as insane as he actually was, if Hannibal was going to get the death penalty. It seemed, too, that they had taken note of Freddie’s irresponsible question about his own murders and had done their own research. They were just as interested in him, hungrily asking him if perhaps he belonged in a cell right next to Hannibal. Will kept his mouth stubbornly shut, hiding his eyes behind his glasses and shoving his hands in his pockets to fight the overwhelming wave of awkwardness and anxiety he felt coming over him.

“Give him some damn space, will you?” came an evenly cool voice behind him. Margot brushed past Will, trailing a faint scent of her expensive perfume behind her. He subconsciously let his mind settle on that scent and be transported to a night- _what, a year ago now?_ \- in which he had clung to that scent with all the desperation a lonely man could muster. But remembering that night made him inevitably remember his unborn child, yet another thing Hannibal had taken from him. No matter who he saw or what he did, Hannibal was a constant presence in his head. He enveloped the dark recesses of his mind while also bathing in the light of his best memories. Hannibal was a paradoxical yet stubbornly permanent fixture in the foyer of Will’s mind.

Margot wrapped her arm around Will’s and proceeded to pull him behind her through the throng of reporters. Something about her demanded quiet respect- _maybe it was the money_ \- and the crowd reluctantly let them through. Will found himself unwilling to let go of Margot’s arm even as the distance between them and the reporters increased. Alana and Jack were nowhere to be found and Will allowed himself one brief moment of respite in the physical contact of someone he actually had a semblance of respect for. If Margot thought anything of it, she didn’t say anything and instead kept her eyes straight forward as they walked the length of the parking lot.

“I felt nothing when I killed Mason,” she said abruptly. Will shot her an interested glance but said nothing.

“I suppose I had expected to feel something. Regret, sadness, joy… but, nothing. Staring at his body, I just felt as if I had done a menial task, something as simple as brushing my hair in the morning.”

“Or taking out the garbage,” Will offered snidely. He knew the comment had been a risk. But he didn’t care. Not really. She smirked slightly in response.

“Yes, I suppose so. But now I don’t know what I’m to do. I spent so much of my life focusing on killing my brother, that now that he’s gone, I don’t know what my purpose is. I got what I wanted, but I still feel… empty. Though I recognize I much rather have this, this life with Alana, than having his face always looming behind my eyelids.” Will furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Alana?” he asked, clearly having no idea what she was referring to. Margot raised her eyebrows at him in slight surprise. “Didn’t you know? We’re dating. Have been, ever since she started working with Mason to track down Hannibal.” Will couldn’t help but flinch just slightly at the mention of Hannibal’s name, an intrusion that truly never left.

“I didn’t know. No one tells me anything. I didn’t even know she was…” Will gestured ambiguously, unsure of what to say, causing Margot to laugh softly.

“Bisexual?” she suggested. “Really? I thought you of all people would have caught on to that.” She frowned at him, but for the life of him, Will had no clue what she was talking about.

“What do you mean ‘of all people?’ That was ages ago, Margot, and seriously- there wasn’t much between us in the first place” Will said tonelessly. Margot smiled at that, shaking her head slightly. “No, I just meant that maybe you’d be able to pick up on it, considering you aren’t exactly straight yourself.” Will’s mind short-circuited at that.

“Excuse me?” he scoffed. “Since when have I not been straight?”

“Since you fell in love with Hannibal, of course. Not to mention your distracted state the entire time I was with you that night. I know what it’s like to have sex and be in a completely different place, Will, and trust me, neither of us were actually with each other that night.” Will pulled his arm from Margot and looked at her incredulously.

“I’m not _in love_ with Hannibal Lecter,” he ground out. “In case you have forgotten, Margot, he tried to eat me alive, in front of me, not six months ago.”

“ _Tried_ being the operative word, Will. If he truly wanted you dead, you would have been dead a long time ago. I suspect that, unlike me, Dr. Lecter found himself experiencing a rather unwelcome cocktail of emotion when he attempted to kill you, which would explain why he allowed us to capture both of you, instead of slitting both your throats then and there. He found himself unable to kill you, not unlike yourself, or so I’m told” she said slyly, but with such an air of confidence that it unnerved him. He couldn’t bring himself to offer anything in response so he just pulled his coat tighter around himself and looked anywhere but her. She, however, being the incessantly observant person she was, could tell he was in a precarious state.

“Let me take you home, Will,” she said softly. He opened his mouth to sharply decline before he remembered he had come with Jack. _Damnit_. Jack was the last person he wanted to see right now.

“Alana?” he asked, for he had no real desire to see her either. Margot shook her head.

“No, she’s got other things to attend to. Come, I’ll drop you off.” Will looked around the parking lot before slowly nodding in affirmation. He walked to her car and slid in the passenger seat, pulling off his scarf and placing it in his lap as he got in the car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, his eyes trailed the cold white building in the distance and he just couldn’t seem to look away.

The drive wasn’t short by nature, but to Will it seemed to drag on for years; each second felt like an eternity. He twisted his hands nervously in his scarf and pulled on a couple of the loose strings. _Love? With Hannibal?_ It was a ridiculous thought. He conceded he wasn’t exactly sure if he hated the man or wanted to be his friend, but _love_? Will chalked it up to Margot projecting her own romanticized ideas of queerness and love in general and shoved the thought away.

The crunch of snow beneath his shoes was oddly comforting as he made his way towards his little white house in the middle of nowhere, his refuge in the storm. Groaning internally as he realized social etiquette was expected, he turned back to look at Margot.

“I think this is the part where I’m supposed to offer you a drink,” he said somewhat uncertainly. Margot smiled softly at him and stepped out of her car, snow falling lightly on her long hair.

“I suppose I have some time. Wouldn’t want to leave you out here to the wolves alone.” Will knew she had meant it as a joke, but the memory of his hands snapping Hannibal’s- _no, wait, Randall’s_ \- neck beneath him that fateful night sent a course of adrenaline through him and quickly stuffed down the excitement that arose in him, like that of a predator. _I’m no predator, I’m not a predator, I stopped being a predator, right?_

Will poured them both a couple fingers of whiskey and settled into a chair by the fire he had started. He was intent on not talking and found himself staring into the flames, watching them lick higher and higher into the chimney. He found himself within another memory, a painful one.

_Will tossed Hannibal’s patient notebook into the fire and watched his sketches of clocks turn to ashes before his eyes. Hannibal was truly dedicated to this, their plan to escape together and kill Jack for his trouble._

_“Won’t your patients need these after you’re gone?”_

_“The FBI will pore over my notes if I left them intact. I would spare my patients that scrutiny.” Hannibal flipped through his notebooks, absentmindedly reflecting on patients past._

_“That’s very considerate.”_

_“I’m dismantling who I was and moving it brick by brick. When we’ve gone from this life, Jack Crawford and the FBI behind us, I will always have this place.” He looked fondly around his office and offered Will a small smile._

_“In your memory palace?” Hannibal nodded._

_“If I’m ever apprehended, my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system, I will live there.”_

_“Could you be happy there?” Will asked, his heart beating fast as he awaited Hannibal’s response._

_“All the palace chambers are not lovely, light and high. In the vaults of our hearts and brains, danger awaits. There are holes in the floor of the mind.” Hannibal smiled sadly and Will’s stomach fluttered with nerves._

Will realized with a sharp intake of his breath that that was the night Hannibal had known. He must have smelled Freddie on him, for he had seen her earlier that day. _How could I have been so stupid?_ With this realization came a second, even more painful one. Will knew now that the night before the planned entrapment, when he dined with Hannibal for the last time, Hannibal had offered him a way out, a chance to come clean and still run away with him, without killing Jack, even. Just the two of them leaving this world behind.

_“I would forgive you, Will,” Hannibal had said._

Will buried his head in his hands and felt an intense wave of anger- at himself, at Hannibal, at Jack, at everything. _If only I had been honest with him, we could have just left then… he never would have killed Abigail… he never would have tried to kill me in Italy… he would have showed me the life he built for me. For the both of us._

Will couldn’t help but fall headfirst into a spiral of anger and guilt. Perhaps if he weren’t so broken, he could have cried. But as it stood, he couldn’t even shed a tear for himself. He simply stared into the flames, pulled nervously at his hair, and drank several more fingers of whiskey. Margot said nothing. He didn’t need, or want, her to. But the fact he wasn’t alone kept him tethered to reality.

When Will reached for the bottle of whiskey again, Margot grabbed it from his hand with surprising speed. He furrowed his brow and was about to retort in anger but realized she was right. He’d seen his father rely on the alcohol too much and wasn’t keen to repeat that behavior. Instead, he showed Margot to the door, thanking her for the company and she simply smiled at him and with a light squeeze to his shoulder, left.

The house was oddly quiet and he could hear his own heart beating. For as much as he enjoyed the silence, in this moment, it was suffocating. Lonely. Empty. And cold. He made his way to his bed and curled up under the blankets. Taking the hint, Winston curled up next to him. Sensing his sadness, Winston laid his chin on Will’s shoulder and Will scratched his ears in return. With every passing moment, the silence was deafening. It pressed down on him from every angle and he stared hopelessly at the ceiling, trying desperately to avoid the flickers from the fire that only conjured more memories of Hannibal. He wondered if Hannibal was in his memory palace now. If he was, was he happy there? Did he see Will there, too, as much as Will saw Hannibal in his own memories? Will shifted restlessly at the thought. Sleep did not pay him a visit.


	6. Took You Long Enough to Find Me

Will stared absentmindedly at the ceiling. _Fuck it_. With a grunt, he pulled himself into a sitting position on the bed and rubbed his hands tiredly across his face. He hadn’t slept all night and his mind was at war within him. He needed to get the fuck out of here.

He meandered down the short hallway to his kitchen, where he poured some hot water in a mug and set it in the microwave. While that was heating up, he walked into the bathroom and reluctantly turned his attention to his reflection. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes and his face looked fully drained of color. He would say that he looked worse than he felt, but the truth was, he felt as if he was already dead- so really, he couldn’t look half bad given that.

The microwave timer went off and he went back to the kitchen to add his cheap instant coffee to the mug, stirring it quickly. Without even giving it a chance to cool off, he took a gulp of it, barely feeling the scalding liquid slide down his throat. A part of him had hoped that the burning sensation, the pain, would bring him back to reality, but he felt nothing. He wouldn’t even allow himself time to take in the morning, intent on punishing himself as he was. He downed the rest of the coffee in a matter of minutes and then was quickly pulling on a pair of old jeans and a worn sweatshirt. He pulled on his waders next before bending down to pull on his wading boots. As an afterthought, he grabbed a heavier winter coat as well since he planned on spending several hours in the stream. He fed the dogs, and was soon headed out the back door, pausing only to grab his fishing gear and throw on a baseball cap.

He began what would be a long trudge through the crunching snow to the stream at the edge of his property. By the time he actually came to the stream, the sun had just begun to rise over the trees on the horizon. He squinted into the sunlight and tried to find some glimmer of hope but once again he felt nothing. He squatted down to open his box of flies and rummaged through them for a minute before he finally decided on one and added it to his wire. He made his way into the water- which was freezing- and stood motionlessly in the middle of the stream. He could feel the water lapping at his waders and searched for that feeling of utter peace that this stream usually brought him, but to no avail. Growing increasingly frustrated, he cast his line out into the stream and waited.

Two hours later, he had had absolutely no luck. Will was naturally a very patient man, but his inability to catch anything today only brought him further distress. That, compounded with the fact that his only stress-relieving activity didn’t bring him the standard amount of peace he had come to expect, was enough to have him in quite a foul mood as he angrily made his way out of the stream and back towards the house.

Back in the house, he shrugged out of the boots and waders and left them to dry before jumping in the shower. That stream had been his refuge over the past few months as he attempted to work through- ignore- the feelings that Hannibal’s incarceration had brought up in Will. In the beginning, he had gone to the stream for several hours every day but as the trial had drawn nearer, Will had been spending the majority of his time studying. He had always found that studying in college had given him plenty of opportunity to lose himself in the content and enable him to avoid all of the other issues in his life. He had spent his life in high school studying to avoid interacting with his father and in college, he had used it as a coping mechanism to avoid interaction with people who could never understand him. He had turned to teaching as the next logical progression of this pattern following his failure of the FBI’s psych evaluations, so it felt natural to turn to studying once again to deal with (and suppress) the pain that separation from Hannibal had brought. Therefore, he had turned to studying for a PhD in forensic psychology, hoping that he could find another way to make himself useful to the field without letting Jack abuse him.

Jack had naturally wanted to do so, of course, as soon as Hannibal had turned himself in. It had only been perhaps two days after his arrest that Jack had shown up at Will’s door, asking to borrow his imagination once again. Will, still incredibly defensive in that moment, had simply turned around and shut the door in Jack’s face. Jack seemed to have gotten the message though and surprisingly, after this interaction repeated itself for a few weeks, he had finally given up and had left Will alone. So, out of his jobs at the FBI as both Jack’s bloodhound and as a professor, he turned to the only other distraction available to him- more school.

He had opted to take his classes exclusively online and sped through his work with astounding speed. His own professors questioned how he was getting the work done so fast, but Will was less than willing to share that he had hardly slept since the night- which had been months ago- and that most days he worked on assignments through meals and often forgot to eat until it was midnight, where he would then eat some random assortment of easily prepared food. He performed well in the classes, naturally, and quickly gained a reputation for his work, but that meant nothing to him. He did it to keep his mind busy and out of a desire to use his empathy for good, to be of some use to the field of forensic psychology as a whole, instead of lending it to the FBI for its abuse once again. Not to mention he could barely stomach the thought of working a case with Jack just as he had before. He had had Hannibal before, as his paddle. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was not willing to get involved with profiling again without Hannibal’s steadying presence, and he knew very well he no longer had that.

Will glanced at the clock and saw that it read 7:30 AM. He drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the kitchen counter, debating. _Fuck it_. He decided he simply had no desire to ever step room in that courtroom ever again. He wouldn’t be showing up today, or the next, or the one after that. Jack and the FBI be damned. Hannibal be damned. _Damn it all to hell_.

Unfortunately for Will, Jack knew he was a flight risk, which is why he had insisted on picking up Will on the way to Maryland every morning for court. He had presented this suggestion to Will under the guise of concern, but Will had naturally seen right through this and knew that the FBI was fucked without Will’s testimony against Hannibal, as both a criminal profiler and Hannibal’s closest confidant. Will of course had initially refused, but was soon served with a subpoena, legally ensuring that he would testify to all he knew of Hannibal Lecter.

One day in court, however, had been more than Will could take. He was tired of all the bullshit and Hannibal’s “insanity” defense and he just wouldn’t participate. Jack wasn’t due for another thirty minutes, so Will made a snap decision. He changed into a pair of black jeans and pulled on a thick, dark grey knit sweater before pulling on a pair of winter boots. He grabbed his keys, hopped into his car, and peeled out of his driveway.

He had no destination but drove with a determined grimace nonetheless. The roads were fairly empty this early in the morning and the thick snow slowed him down some, but he was able to feel a small sense of peace as he drove subconsciously along a familiar path through Virgina and past the border into Maryland. After about an hour of driving, he suddenly found himself parked outside of Hannibal’s house.

He gripped the steering wheel and gritted his teeth against the rising tide of anxiety within him. He hadn’t been to Hannibal’s house since before Italy and had found it too painful to visit after Hannibal’s arrest. Yet, as he sat staring blankly at the house in front of him, he could also feel a deeper undercurrent of yearning within him. He was too weak to resist it. Always had been, really.

Will finally steeled himself for the memories that would come flooding back to him as he walked to the front door. The house hadn’t been sold, but the FBI hadn’t relinquished the property either, considering the possibility that evidence could appear at any moment. With a sense of trepidation, Will picked the lock to Hannibal’s door and eased it open. Upon seeing the entryway, his nerves were immediately settled as the place alone seemed to radiate a small sense of the peace Hannibal had brought him. Will sighed softly and walked into the dining room before taking a seat at the right hand of the head of the table- what had been his usual spot with Hannibal. He closed his eyes and could see with such clarity the night he and Hannibal feasted on Randall Tier that he wasn’t so sure it was just a memory. Something in the back of his mind made him wonder if Hannibal often visited this night in his memory palace and found the same bittersweet happiness from it that Will did.

After spending well over half an hour in his memories of dining with Hannibal, Will finally stood and walked towards the glass doors at the back of the house, with a mind for some fresh air. While approaching the end of the table, his glasses fell from his pocket and landed under the table. Sighing, he dropped to his knees and leaned under the table to reach for them before something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. What the fuck? Peering closer, he realized he was seeing a bullet hole in the floor under the table, not even covered up by the rug. Further examination told Will that the bullet had come from under the floor, shot at an upward angle, meaning there absolutely had to be a room underneath the dining room. Confused, he began looking for a door that would lead to a potential downstairs area. Will made his way to the kitchen and, while trying to block out the memories of Abigail, found a door near the pantry that he was quite sure he had never seen behind. He opened the door and was greeted by a rush of cold air and a dark descent of stairs.

He switched on the light and made his way down the stairs to find what to anybody else would have been a scene out of a horror movie. All sorts of materials for a wide range of violence- sawing, cutting, hacking- lined the walls of the basement. But that wasn’t what stood out to Will. He felt something was _off_ about this place, though he couldn’t figure out why. Looking up at the ceiling, he walked to the area of the basement underneath the dining room and found the gunshot hole. He stood in the spot the gun must have been fired from and found himself facing the stairs. It seemed as if someone had fired the gun at someone standing at the bottom of the stairs. _But who…?_

His train of thought was interrupted as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned to glance around the room and his heart stopped at the sight that greeted him.

“Took you long enough to find me.” Beverley stood on the other side of the basement, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, a slight smirk playing across her lips.


	7. Conversations with Ghosts

Will blinked in rapid succession before a look of incredulity passed across his face.

“Beverley?” he asked, his voice sounding softer and smaller than it had in quite some time.

“Will,” Beverley said, the smirk falling from her lips. She stood up straighter and took a couple steps towards him. Will swallowed nervously.

“I’m used to seeing Abigail, she haunts several of the rooms in my memory palace, but not once have I come across you. Perhaps I should be the one asking you why you haven’t found me” Will said, shoving his hands in his pockets and raising an inquiring eyebrow at her. She scoffed.

“You didn’t want to find me,” Beverley said simply, shrugging her shoulders in the process. Will chewed on that thought for a moment before he nodded slowly.

“Perhaps not,” he smiled sadly. He paused, looking at the ground for several seconds before bringing his eyes back up to her again.

“I tried to kill him, because of you, you know,” Will said. “I sent a man after him with explicit instructions to hang him by his neck and have him wobble precariously on an upturned bucket while he bled out from incisions on his wrists. I wanted him to be so desperate to beat me that he would insist on kicking the bucket out from under himself just to hang on to the illusion that he had won.” Will’s blood boiled as he relayed the details of his past passionate plans of murder.

“Damn, Will, I always knew the FBI was right to deny you a field job. You’re unstable as hell.” She had said it lightly, but it stung Will nonetheless.

“I’m not unstable, Beverley. Not anymore.” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Well, at least not in the way I used to be. I know who I am. And I know now more than ever who Hannibal is.” Something about the way he had said this last sentence made Beverley narrow her eyes at him.

“You got too fucking close, didn’t you?” She asked him and Will looked anywhere but her eyes. He didn’t answer, he couldn’t. She took a couple steps closer to him and crossed her arms.

“Will, look at me. You’ve got to get him out of your head. Just tell the fucker to-”

“It’s not that simple, Beverley, believe me, you don’t know how bad I want to-”

“He killed me, Will! He fucking strangled me in this basement and took me away from my family! My parents, my little sister-” her voice broke and Will, who had never seen Beverley show any substantial amount of emotion, couldn’t help but surrender to his empathy, and feel the grief, anger, and sadness radiating off of her. He let himself be completely overwhelmed with guilt. He could feel it weighing down his chest and his lungs felt full of lead as he struggled to breathe.

“I’m not the person you were once friends with, Beverley. The guy you thought you were friends with. I’m not a good person. And the worst thing is, I don’t even care that I’m not a good person. I know who I am and I’m no longer in denial of that. I am truly sorry I couldn’t avenge your death, I really did try. But I’m done pretending that I am the person that can do that for you. I just can’t anymore. I can’t,” his voice broke as he looked at her face, which was characteristically devoid of emotion. Despite the blankness of her expression, the disappointment radiating off of her was so tangible Will could feel it like a knife in his chest. He rubbed his face with his hands in a desperate attempt to get himself together. When he opened his eyes again, Beverley was gone.

When he would later look back on this afternoon, he wouldn’t be able to say with any certainty what exactly had pushed him over the edge. All he knew was that one moment he had been explaining to his dead friend why he couldn’t bring her justice, and the next, he was on his knees with his head buried in his hands, fighting the very tears that had fought for release insistently over the past several months.

“Mom always told me it’s better to let the tears out, so they don’t turn into angry words later,” came a soft voice from the corner. _Abigail_. Will couldn’t take that, not on top of everything else. He leaned back against the wall of the basement and for the first time in months, he let himself truly feel. Silent tears streamed down his face as his body shook against sobs that threatened to break through. Abigail slid down to sit next to him against the wall. He could almost feel her soft touch, could almost believe that her hand was holding his arm in a gesture of comfort.

“I loved him too, you know. Hannibal. I lived with him for over a year, right here in this basement. I knew I couldn’t be seen, so no, he didn’t keep me as a prisoner down here. He was able to make me feel at home though, somehow.” She glanced over at Will, eyes raking over his face which was raw with emotion, eerily reminiscent of the night she had last seen him. His face had been so heartbroken then, right before Hannibal had taken a knife to both of them. Her face changed from one of carefully concealed sadness to one of open fondness.

“Sometimes, he would take me out to this house he had by the sea. I loved it there most of all. He used to tell me how much he longed to show you the bluff, and how he would plan to cross the Atlantic from that house, all three of us in a boat headed for a new life. I wanted that life, Will. I wanted that because I trusted you. And I trusted him too. He truly did care for me, I know that. He used to tell me I reminded him so much of his sister, Mischa. We waited a long time for you to come around. He would tell me sometimes how excited he was at the prospect of running off to Europe with both of us. He told me we were his family. I loved him, Will. I still love him, even though he’s the reason I’m gone. You don’t need to deny yourself that love in front of me.” Abigail smiled at him, a youthful smile so full of hope and love. Knowing he had robbed the world of such a smile made his heart clench even more. When he was finally able to force words from his mouth, his voice had taken on a raspy quality and was thick with emotion.

“I want to hate him for what he did to you. To Beverley. I hate myself for not being able to hate him. If I can’t hate him for what he did, all that shit that he’s done, what does that make me?”

“Human,” Abigail said simply. She tilted her head questioningly.

“After all he’s done, would you still go to him, even now?” Will froze at her question, and he was reminded of when she had asked him this very question over a year ago as he lay recovering in the hospital before seeking out Hannibal in Italy. He closed his eyes and wiped at his tears angrily.

“I told him once that I didn’t know if either of us could survive separation. I don’t know what exactly this is, but it sure as hell is not surviving.”

***

Will didn’t notice when Abigail finally faded from the edges of his view and was equally unaware of the passing time. He remained on the basement floor, back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest with his arms folded over them. His head was buried stubbornly in the darkness of his folded arms as he tried to understand his own thoughts. The minutes dragged by but the hours sped past him; he was both aware and unaware of the ticking that had come to define his life- a _persistent_ ticking that sometimes took the physical form of an ordinary clock and at other times was simply a loose collection of cascading numbers that took no real shape and floated aimlessly in his subconsciousness.

The basement’s four metal walls and cool air reminded Will of a dungeon and he felt both enraged that Hannibal had caged him once again and also as if he deserved the punishment. His world swirled around him and he feared he would lose himself inside his mind once again.

Today, however, was not the day such a fate would become Will. A steady click, thump, click drew Will out of his reverie- existential crisis - and had him glancing up at the floor above him with confusion. _Three steps, not two… Alana_ , he realized with a groan. He made no move to stand, content with watching what she would do. The door to the basement he had left open, however, and Alana was walking down the steps towards him soon enough.

“You fancy yourself an unpredictable man, Will, but you are unfortunately quite predictable. I thought I might find you here.” Alana paused at the bottom of the steps and leant against her cane. Will merely glanced up at her tiredly before letting the back of his head fall against the basement wall behind him. Alana, for all her pretense of coolness, couldn’t help the fresh wave of concern that washed over her as she took in Will’s eyes which seemed red and swollen. His hair stuck up at odd angles as if he’d been pulling at it as he was wont to do in times of high anxiety.

“Are you going to tell me to get lost again, or will you let me sit with you this time?” she asked.

“It’s a free country, Alana,” came the intoned response.

“That it is.” Alana sank down to the floor a couple of paces from Will, folding her hands politely in her lap.

“The last time I found you here, you told me you had been visiting old friends. Who were you visiting, Will?”

“Not who you think.”

“What do I think?”

“You think I came here to find Hannibal. To _connect_ with him again” he murmured with distaste.

“And did you?”

“I don’t want to connect with him, Alana. I’m already connected and disconnected. He’s always in my orbit yet I cannot eclipse him and I have no escape.”

“You are drawn to him, as one is drawn to gravity.”

“One isn’t drawn to gravity. Gravity draws one to it.”

“Same thing,” Alana shrugged.

“I assure you, Alana, it is most decidedly not the same thing,” Will said, sighing as he lost himself in staring at the beams of the basement ceiling.

“Who did you see, Will?” Alana repeated her question again, this time softer. Will normally would have pushed back but he simply lacked the ability to care anymore. His body quite literally could not spare the effort.

“Beverley. And Abigail.” Alana nodded slowly before fixing him with her piercing blue gaze, eyes portraying concern but only just concealing the curiosity behind them.

“What did you talk about with them?”

“This was the first time I have seen Beverley, since the night I examined her crime scene. She didn’t say much, but I could feel her disappointment driving into me like a spear. I let her down. I hadn’t even known she was killed down here, in this basement. I can’t leave, because then I leave her here alone.” Alana looked at him sadly before her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Will, what do you mean you didn’t know she was killed down here? This was all covered in the pre-trial briefing.” Will glanced up at that, expression blank.

“I didn’t read it.”

“Why the hell not, Will? Your testimony is pretty damn important in this case.” Will just shrugged.

“You understand I’m here doing this because I had to talk Jack down from strangling you himself? He’s beyond pissed you didn’t show up to court today.”

“Yeah, well, Jack can go fuck himself.”

“Will!” Alana turned to angle herself towards him while he remained looking stubbornly at the ceiling.

“First of all, you are under legal obligation to appear in court and you know that so stop trying to remain ignorant of that fact. Second of all, Hannibal needs you-”

“ _Needs_ me? Alana, do you hear yourself right now? I don’t give a damn about what Dr. Lecter may _need_.”

“Do you honestly want Hannibal to get the death penalty, Will?” Will froze. He swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat.

“I thought he was pleading insanity? People like him always win cases like that.” Alana scoffed at him in disbelief.

“This is why you read the pre-trial briefings! We sent you multiple emails and packages and even people to deliver the files to you in person because we knew you’d be resistant but damn, Will. Who exactly do you think is orchestrating Hannibal’s insanity plea so that he avoids the death penalty?” Will just stared at her, confusion apparent on his face.

“I am. Dr. Chilton and I are responsible for Hannibal’s insanity plea. We’re trying to save his life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!! I'm going to be a bit slower with getting chapters out probably due to exams coming up soon! But rest assured, I will get back to this story as soon as I can, though it might just be a bit more spread out. Thank you all so much for reading!!


	8. To Hunt, To Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: I know the story hasn't been very graphic up to this point, but this chapter marks the beginning of a lot more graphic events, real or imagined. You have been warned! Proceed with caution.   
> Also: implied alcohol/substance abuse

Soft morning light filtered in through the windows surrounding Will’s bed and woke him gently. He stretched as he blinked in the morning and realized with grim surprise that he had actually managed to sleep a couple hours the night before. He threw off the covers and walked to the door, barely managing to open the door a quarter of the way before his dogs bounded past him on their way outside. Opening the door more fully, he stepped out onto his porch to watch after the dogs and took in the Saturday morning air. He was grateful he would have the weekend to gather his thoughts before braving the courtroom again on Monday. 

Jack had been furious, naturally, that Will had already bailed on the second day of the trial. When Will had returned home the night before and finally checked his phone, he could only manage to listen to the first of Jack’s ten angry voicemails before deleting the rest dispassionately. 

He and Alana hadn’t discussed much more after she had told him about her and Chilton’s involvement in organizing the psychiatric defense for Hannibal’s insanity plea. She had suggested that he go home and read the briefings he had been instructed to several weeks prior before fighting with her. He had agreed to do so and to call her with any questions he had, though he doubted he’d wish to engage any further than necessary with her. 

So, he had left her overbearing presence as soon he had the chance, sparing only the briefest of glances to the kitchen. He could still see so clearly Hannibal standing over the stove, sleeves rolled up and a crisp white apron tied around his waist. He could almost smell the sweet temptation of a homemade dessert baking in the oven, could almost feel the press of Hannibal’s hand to his elbow as he moved past him in the kitchen, and could almost see his deep maroon eyes, alight with fondness as Will took the first bite of whatever he had prepared. 

It was this last image that burned relentlessly into the back of his eyelids now as he stood back in his own kitchen, pouring a sad bowl of cereal for himself. He grabbed his (probably) stale Cheerios- he was bad at feeding himself- and settled down with his legs crossed on the rug in front of the fire. His dogs immediately began claiming spots to curl up near him but he shooed them away reluctantly as he pulled the first dusty box of briefing materials towards him. 

The contents of this box, and that of the other sixteen boxes scattered about Will’s living room, proved to be exactly what Will had been trying to avoid but could no longer- the explicit details of every single known Chesapeake Ripper, Copycat, or otherwise Hannibal Lecter case, complete with photographs. Each box was dedicated to an individual victim, and Will found it hard to believe Hannibal had only killed seventeen people. He knew there were others- many, many others- and that seventeen was all the FBI could conclusively tie him to. Which meant that these seventeen cases all held damning evidence that would ensure Hannibals’ conviction. 

Will glanced down at the name on this first box-  _ Olmstead, Jeremy _ . With a sigh, he opened the box and began rifling through the photographs that had been included.  _ Olmstead, Jeremy  _ had been fated to become Hannibal’s very own “wound man.” Will brushed his fingers lightly over the picture of Jeremy impaled with every single tool in Hannibal’s possession and was reminded of his own brief “experience” doing the same when he had reimagined Abel Gideon’s crime scene at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane not 3 years earlier. He could still feel the cool metal of the IV rack in his hands as he plunged it into the nurse below him, her blood covering his hands with intense red heat. He could remember the elation he had felt in driving forceps into her chest cavity and watching her body crack and give beneath his hands. And he could still remember the strength and power that had flowed through his veins as he looked down at her when he had finished, some twenty-five random instruments pinning her body to the table yet simultaneously elevating her to the level of art. 

Will gasped as these feelings ran through him with such vigor that he was almost knocked unsteady. He tried to take a deep breath but a wave of panic engulfed him.  _ Fuck, not again, please no _ . He had wanted to put these memories and experiences behind him and yet here he was, living vicariously through Hannibal’s memories of his kills as if they were Will’s own. But he knew that he needed to be reminded of who-  _ what _ \- Hannibal was if he wanted to properly work through his feelings and thoughts regarding the trial. 

With that thought in mind, he exchanged  _ Olmstead, Jeremy _ for  _ Boyle, Cassie _ and was transported back to his own real memory this time, of her lying impaled on a head of antlers. “ _ Practically gift-wrapped _ ,” he had said.  _ It was gift-wrapped, really. Hannibal had made a gift of Cassie Boyle’s body and had presented it to me. How many other times did I fail to see the gifts he sent me?  _

Will continued on like this for hours, but was still only able to make it to  _ Gray, James _ before he had to force himself to quit. He knew that Bevereley’s box was the next one to comb through and he needed to take a step back. As if on cue, Will’s phone rang, and grateful for the distraction, Will answered it without even checking the number. 

“Hello, Will. How kind of you to finally answer one of my  _ several  _ calls.” 

“Hello, Jack.” Will offered no explanation for his lack of communication and yet Jack seemed to wait for an apology, dragging them both into an awkward silence. Fortunately for Will, he was rather used to awkward silences and felt he owed nothing to Jack anyway so was content to wait patiently for Jack to get over himself. Realizing that any hope of an apology from Will was futile, Jack let out a heavy sigh. 

“Look, Will, I know you don’t exactly want anything to do with me right now, but before I tell you this next bit of news, just know that I did what I did with your best interest in mind.”

“Which really just means it’s in  _ your _ best interest, isn’t that right Jack?” 

“Will-”

“What, Jack? What did you do?” 

“Look, you have to understand the pressure I’m under to make sure that this case gets shut away in the most  _ secure _ way possible. It is my responsibility to ensure that Hannibal loses his case. You know the FBI is working with the prosecution and we are pushing for the death penalty. I do hope someone has made you aware of that.” 

“Believe it or not, Jack, I am not actually an idiot. I am aware that everyone will be pushing for Hannibal getting the death penalty.”

“Yeah, well, it was quite a nasty shock for me to find out last week after the first day of the trial that Alana was helping with Hannibal’s defense. She could’ve at least told me.” 

“Come now, Jack, where would be the fun in that?” Will asked sarcastically and he could clearly envision the glare he would receive from him had Jack been delivering this news in person. 

“Will, I know that you and Lecter have a complicated history, but I need you to know how important your testimony is to this case. I’ve explained this to you before but the FBI is counting on you as one of our own.” 

“Formerly.” 

“Will-”

“Forget it, Jack. I don’t owe my loyalty to anyone. Not you, not the FBI, not Alana, and not Hannibal. I want that understood.” 

“I’m glad you mentioned Alana since I’m sure you realize that Hannibal’s lawyers and their defense will most likely see you as a star witness. You will be pulled between Alana and I, and Hannibal too of course.” 

“Your point being? You never sought to warn me of the predators breathing down my neck in the past.” 

“Frankly, I need you to be in the right headspace for this. We all benefit from that, you included.” Will couldn’t help but notice a sense of dread growing within him. He had a horrible suspicion he knew where this was going. 

“Jack, what did you do?” 

“I worked with the defense to petition the judge that you attend court-mandated therapy before you take the stand. The judge agreed. He ordered you to attend two sessions with a psychiatrist who must then sign off on your mental fitness to take the stand.”  _ Fuck _ . Will ground his teeth together in annoyance. 

“Court-appointed psychiatrist or my own choice?” Will spat out bitterly. 

“I argued for a court-appointed psychiatrist but the defense won that argument. The judge has ensured that you are to have your own choice of psychiatrist.” 

“Bedelia.” He didn’t even think twice. He would, after all, take immense pleasure in offering her snide remarks the entirety of the two sessions. He heard Jack very audibly let out a string of curse words, presumably what he thought was out of Will’s earshot. 

“I goddamn knew it. Will, she’s not going to be any help to you at all.” 

“That remains to be seen by me and my  _ psychiatrist _ , Jack” Will said gruffly. “Is that all, then?” 

“Yes. I’ll be by to pick you up Monday morning at 6:00 sharp.” 

Will hung up without another word. 

***

When Will awoke the next day, he had a brief couple of seconds of an existence in which the boxes yet unopened in his living room did not exist. However, with each passing breath and blink of his eyes against the sunlight, this ideal world faded piece by piece. Each second brought a new victim’s face to the forefront of his mind and soon enough, his head was pounding- a mockery of the heartbeats they no longer possessed. 

Trying his best to shake off such a macabre start to his morning, he let the dogs outside and proceeded to play with them in the snow for a few minutes. Despite his best efforts to be a good stick-thrower, his arms kept falling with the weight of the pressure from all different directions falling on him. Winston nudged his hand and Will resolved to go back in and feed himself, for the dogs if not himself. 

An hour of meaningless distractions later, Will finally brought himself to sit down with the next box, labeled  _ Katz, Beverly.  _ His hands shook as he reached for the photographs, knowing that laying eyes on them would immediately activate his innate ability to empathize with her killer, which of course was Hannibal. He glanced down at the first picture of her divided corpse and braced himself for the rush of empathy. 

_ Her death wasn’t personal, not really. He had liked her, in fact. She was smart and quick-witted, but she was oh so foolish. He had played along with her games of entrapment but once she had  _ seen _ him, he had no other choice. Her death therefore had been quick and painless- she had lost consciousness before he had finished her strangulation anyway- and he would display her with similar coldness and precision. He had frozen her before cutting her into neat little lines. She would try to dissect him? For that, she would be dissected and displayed herself. No, this hadn’t been personal with Beverly… but there was an undercurrent of something personal to the display… Will had sent Beverely to investigate him… if Will wanted to see him under a microscope, he would ensure the image was clear enough for him.  _

Will wiped at the slight sheen of sweat that had gathered on his forehead as he opened his eyes. An intense surge of rage sent him into a fitful pace about the room, his hands reflexively curling at his sides. Images of Hannibal on the floor beneath him, his eyes widening as Will tightened his grip on his throat filled Will’s mind and he was so sure that if he saw Hannibal in this moment, he would make sure he never took another breath. Will imagined Hannibal looking in his eyes, knowing that Will was taking his final breaths from him. Will could almost feel the familiar headiness of power and righteousness, and he ached with the desire to see his vision to completion. 

For all his rage and feelings of righteous anger, a nagging voice inside his head whispered traitorous words. The voice insinuated that Will would fail, even now, if he tried to kill Hannibal. He growled in frustration and quickly dismissed the thought. 

He used his anger to propel him forward in the casework, moving through several victims that had been simple cattle to Hannibal. Will expected his stomach to churn at the thought that he’d likely eaten  _ Ibale, Dorene  _ or  _ Ionnoti, Lester _ at Hannibal’s table but was equally unsurprised that it didn’t. 

After looking through these last few, he noticed he still had two boxes left. He looked at them in confusion before recounting the boxes again, realizing that there were in fact eighteen boxes instead of seventeen. He knew that the box he had been so desperately avoiding-  _ Hobbs, Abigail _ \- sat off to the side from the rest, but he turned his attention now to a newer box, one less dusty than the others that must have been added relatively recently. 

With interest, he pulled the box closer to him and read  _ Verger, Mason _ . He knew Hannibal was being charged with some of the guards he had killed in rescuing him from Mason’s clutches, but he hadn’t realized Mason’s own murder had been added to the list. He remembered quite clearly that Margot had told him just a few days ago that she had been the one to kill Mason. Knowing that Margot had been blatantly honest with him, the fact that Mason’s murder had now been tacked on to Hannibal’s list of victims left him confused.  _ What exactly had happened? _

He had heard, of course, of Mason’s death the day after he had left the Verger estate and had been questioned relentlessly by Jack, but his memory of that night at the estate was still so muddled to him. All he could remember was the attempt by Cordell to rid him of his face and the events after with some minimal degree of clarity. 

_ Though the drugs had made him immobile, he could still so easily see Cordell’s face looming above his. He had told Will he would be cutting his face off without anesthesia, leaving Will to feel the scrape of the scalpel against his cheek- the second time someone had tried to get in his head within forty-eight hours. Though he could feel the white-hot pain of the knife, he couldn’t move or speak and was left staring helplessly at the ceiling.  _

_ “It’s rather rude of you to relieve Will of his face without his express consent, wouldn’t you agree, Cordell?” came a voice out of the shadows. Cordell paused and glanced up with a menacing look.  _

_ “Dr. Lecter. Who let you out of your pigsty?”  _

_ “Ah, only myself of course. Now, I would appreciate it if you were to take a step back from Mr. Graham here and leave his face to my care alone.” Cordell smirked.  _

_ “Yes, I’m quite sure you’d love to take plenty of care with this pretty face of his. Seems like you already marked his face as your own” Cordell gestured to the gash on Will’s forehead left by Hannibal’s bonesaw. “Trying to make a claim on him for all the world to see, hmm?”  _

_ Hannibal said nothing, not denying it, and took several steps closer, into the light and into Will’s line of vision. He was covered head to toe in blood, and it dripped to the floor like thick black tears. He looked like a vision of pure savagery; he delighted in his wickedness.  _

_ Will locked eyes with him and he swore he saw something flicker in the depths of Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal seemed to radiate such a calm, reassuring energy that, in that moment, Will knew he would be safe. Hannibal would save him.  _

_ Hannibal had injected Will with a mild sedative he had found near the operating table, no doubt wishing to let Will sleep off the effects of the immobilizing drug. Will slipped in and out of an uneasy sleep, complete with partial visions of Hannibal doing some very questionable activities with Mason and a cattle prod, in addition to seeing an uneasy handoff of something between Hannibal and Margot. Mason had been returned to Margot’s care and Hannibal had turned to Will.  _

_ Will remembered trying to push himself up, but his arm only twitched slightly before stilling again. Hannibal’s lips curled softly and he leaned forward and scooped Will into his arms. The strength in Hannibal’s arms brought an inexplicable sense of ease to Will and he slipped back into unconsciousness. He had been only partially aware but too exhausted to protest as Hannibal trudged back to Will’s house in the snow, carrying him bridal style. He couldn’t manage a protest as Hannibal laid him in his own bed back in his house, and made no move to stop him as he stripped Will of his bloodied clothes and back into his signature flannel. Though mobility had begun to return slowly, he found he did not push Hannibal away as he held the back of his neck as he laid him gently back on his pillow and folded the blankets around him. He didn’t open his eyes as he felt Hannibal run a hand soothingly through his hair and a thumb lightly over the gash on his forehead. Just this once, he allowed himself to relax under Hannibal’s affections. He attributed it to the weariness of the drugs.  _

Will felt his face flare with embarrassment as he remembered the softness of Hannibal’s hand on his face and how entirely  _ good _ it had felt to have his hand in his hair. Shaking his head in disgust at himself for finding comfort in  _ that _ , he turned his attention to the other fact that his memory had brought to the forefront of his mind.  _ Hannibal definitely hadn’t killed Mason _ . He had returned him, very much alive, to Alana and Margot. 

Will opened Mason’s box and found a letter written in Hannibal’s elegant script towards the top. The letter was brief, but described in great detail how much pleasure Hannibal had felt in killing Mason. Will frowned as he read through the letter once more. It was uncharacteristically boastful. Not that Hannibal wasn’t arrogant,  _ the pretentious asshole _ , but he would never stoop so low to boast of a kill in a letter.  _ No. _ Will knew in that moment that a deal had been struck. Alana and Margot, it seemed, had made yet another deal with the devil.  _ No wonder they’re protecting him. Margot’s freedom from Mason’s murder depends on Hannibal’s conviction. Alana’s life depends on him being locked away.  _ Having him sentenced to a hospital for the criminally insane would ensure Alana’s safety while also ensuring that Mason’s murder wouldn’t be traced back to them as Hannibal took the fall for it proudly. They owed him, and thus would fight for his life. They would call upon Will to defend Hannibal, to paint him as insane. Jack would rope Will in too, to condemn Hannibal as a monster- and a sane one at that. Once again, Will would be caught in a virtual tug-of-war between Jack and Alana, each trying to use Will for their own benefit. 

He buried his head in his hands. He felt unsteady.  _ Unstable _ . The combination of rage, fear, regret, and longing warring for primacy in his chest left him dizzy. He  _ hated _ Hannibal for inspiring a sense of loyalty in his heart. He resented Hannibal for the fact he had found comfort under his fingertips. And he loathed him for what he had done to the seventeen- _ eighteen _ \- people in these boxes around Will’s living room. 

_ Hannibal stood in the middle of Will’s living room, eyes as piercing a blue as the dead Garett Jacob Hobbs’. The boxes around Will’s living room slowly transformed before his eyes and took the shape of each of Hannibal’s victims that had seconds before been mere concepts on paper. Bloodied bodies, cracked at odd angles with unseeing eyes pointed in all directions, gathered in a sort of pile around Hannibal’s feet. He saw Beverely, her face pale and her eyes clouded. He saw a blood-soaked Abigail lying oddly peacefully at Hannibal’s feet, her face relaxed and expressionless. Hannibal stood tall amidst the bodies, his own fine suit slick with blood. Though his eyes retained the clouded blue that he shared with the dead, his eyes still somehow shone with life. Will’s chest filled with a sense of appreciation. Of elation.  _

_ Hannibal was elevated amongst his creation. The bodies beneath him created a throne for him; he was Death himself. Will couldn’t help but think it was beautiful.  _

_ “See?...See?” Hannibal breathed, his voice drawing Will in. And Will saw.  _

Will saw. Will knew that he saw. He hated Hannibal for drawing that out of him. He hated himself for truly  _ feeling _ it,  _ seeing  _ the beauty. His blood boiled with bloodlust for Hannibal; and yet his blood chilled with the thought of his hands brushing against his face once again. He hated Hannibal, yes, but he hated himself most of all. 

His hand hesitated, stopping him from pouring the whiskey into the glass waiting below it.  _ Fuck it _ . He ditched the glass and slumped into the chair- the chair where Hannibal had once sat by Will’s side on  _ the  _ night- with the bottle of whiskey and swallowed a mouthful, relishing the burn that it left in its wake. 

An irresponsible amount of whiskey later found Will groggy and disoriented. His chest ached for  _ him _ . He drank more whiskey to burn the feeling away but it was only like adding fuel to a fire; with each shot of whiskey, the flames of his desire grew higher. His desire to hunt Hannibal, his desire to hold Hannibal. The latter reinforced the first and Will grabbed at a blanket angrily and curled deeper into the chair. His sleep did nothing to ease the ache in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I am so in love with this fic and am exited to show you where the story goes! much love to all of you <3 y'all are the BEST


	9. And the Teacup that Remains Shattered

The next morning found Will roused from a deep sleep by a loud banging on the door, just as had happened last week. _Jack._ Will tried to stand but was immediately hit by one of the most intense hangovers of his life. He finally managed to pull himself up from the chair by his bedside and walked towards the door, throwing it open in irritation. Jack took one look at him and shoved the door open angrily before shouldering himself into the house. Since it was still barely 6am, it was still fairly dark outside so Jack flipped on several lamps in Will’s living room before turning to look at him and cross his arms menacingly. Will simply raised one eyebrow at him, eyes squinting in the low light. 

“Go,” he growled out, pointing down the hall to Will’s bathroom. Will went. 

Once in the car, Will settled into Jack’s passenger seat with the hopes of using some of the time to sleep off the remnants of his hangover. However, not twenty minutes into the drive, Jack felt the need to lay into him again. 

“Will, I know it’s not my place, but maybe you should get some help. Some real help. For alcoholics.” He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable but trying his best to appear supportive. Will couldn’t make himself care. Jack would _shatter_ if he had to deal with half of the feelings Will was trying to bear right now. 

“You know what, you’re right, Jack. It isn’t your place.” 

“Apparently alcohol makes you rude, too.” 

“Everything makes me rude” Will mumbled. Jack quite literally could not stop himself from saying the next words that flew from his mouth. 

“I’m surprised you went as long as you did before that crazy son of a bitch tried to eat you for ‘being rude.’” Jack’s mortification at his own statement largely outweighed the shock Will himself had felt. Before Will knew it, he was laughing. _Actually_ laughing. For what must have been the first time in months, ever since _the_ night. Will shook his head as his laughing took on a more hysterical quality, which made Jack start laughing nervously at first before he too was chuckling. 

“I’m surprised I made it that long too, honestly. I was _so rude_ to him the first day we met. I was defensive and angry, and he only smiled at me, as if I was the most interesting person he had met in years.” Jack’s smile dropped at that. 

“I believe, in many ways, you were.” The silence stretched on for a few minutes before Jack couldn’t hold himself back anymore. For as much as he liked to pretend he was too tough to care, he did care deeply about Will. 

“Look, Will, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I would want you to hear this from me on the off chance something comes up in the trial.” He paused, unsure of how to continue. 

“Just tell me, Jack. I’m equally sure I rather hear it now than watch a room full of eyes turn to me in the courtroom as I hear it for the first time.” Jack nodded before shifting uncomfortably. 

“In Italy, when we found Bedelia, you had left while we were talking to find Hannibal. She had just shot her arm full of drugs and I guess the tiny sliver of heart that she does have in there felt compelled to tell me that you were in danger. Or maybe she was just curious what would happen, I honestly don’t know.” Will turned his face slightly at that; showing any sign of compassion was quite uncharacteristic of Bedelia so he would assume the latter.

“She told me that Lecter planned to eat you. I believe she thought it was quite obvious he would do so, kept mentioning something about his sister, but I knew I had to try to find you before Hannibal could get to you. What has bothered me though, Will, is what she told me when I asked why the hell Hannibal would want to eat you when you had just traveled the world to find him. She told me that Lecter planned to eat you because…. well, she said it was because he loved you.” Will blinked once slowly and then several more times. He seemed incapable of forming a thought and felt as if his mind had simply ceased its functioning. After several moments of strained thought, he let out a short, bitter laugh. 

“Will? Look, I didn’t want to tell you because I can’t imagine how awful it is to hear that someone like _him-”_

“People don’t try to eat the people they love.” _That’s not true. He ate Mischa, and he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone_. 

“People don’t eat people,” Jack offered back, causing Will to scoff. 

“Fine. Then people don’t kill the people they love. That’s not love,” Will said with such a bite that Jack couldn’t help the small flinch that came from his words. Will noticed Jack’s hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel. 

“What, Jack, are you gonna tell me you actually _disagree_ with that? After all the shit you see in this job-” 

“Stop, Will.” Jack had said it so quietly that Will almost didn’t even hear him. Such behavior from Jack was usually indicative of something serious so Will simply sat in silence, sure that Jack would tell him what was happening with him when he was ready. The silence dragged on and Will had almost forgotten he had even been waiting on Jack to speak when his voice reached Will’s ears softly once again. 

“I killed Bella. I killed my wife. I loved my wife, more than I have ever loved anything, and I killed her.” Jack let out a shaky breath and his hands looked like they hadn’t loosened their grip on the steering wheel by even the slightest degree in the past twenty minutes. Will wasn’t often shocked by other people’s admissions, but he had to admit he had not seen this one coming. 

“That’s different, Jack. You did what you did _because_ you loved her.” 

“Maybe that’s what Hannibal thought he was doing, too.” Will didn’t have a response for that so he turned his head and focused on the woods flying past them in the car. The sun stretched its warmth across the world around them and Will tried to ignore the twisted warmth blossoming in his own chest. 

***

Once inside the courtroom, Alana was quick to whisk Will away from Jack’s side and steer him towards where she and Margot were sitting behind the defendant’s bench. 

“No longer trying to hide the fact you’re rooting for Hannibal?” Will asked her, his eyebrow raised at her in disbelief. 

“Well, it’s bound to come out soon enough anyway, isn’t it? I’m scheduled to testify as soon as they run through the evidence for each of the murder counts, which shouldn’t be more than a week at best.” Alana shrugged and took her seat next to Margot, indicating the seat on her other side for Will. He shifted from foot to foot nervously. 

“I don’t know that I should be here either. I’m trying my hand at self-preservation for once in my life and I’d prefer to stay out of this bullshit between you and Jack.” Alana frowned at that. 

“This isn’t about me and Jack. It’s about Hannibal, and whether or not he dies at the hand of the state like a common criminal. Now take your seat and get over yourself. We’re about to start.” Will was slightly taken aback by Alana’s tone but supposed he was just not yet used to her newfound straightforwardness. Will smoothed his hair back nervously but met Jack’s challenging eye head-on as he took the seat next to Alana and folded his hands in his lap. 

The door off to the side of the courtroom swung open and Will heard Hannibal’s chains before he even laid eyes on him. Just as he had the first day, he walked in the courtroom with such an air of professionalism, with elegance, and with such a relaxed demeanor that it somehow managed to soothe the frayed edges of Will’s own nerves. 

Hannibal was dressed in a dark grey plaid suit, complete with his characteristic waistcoat and a rich blue tie. His handcuffs, rather than betraying him for the criminal he was, only looked like two thin sterling silver bracelets on his wrists, and he wore them as if he had just received them as a most generous gift. 

As he neared the defendant’s bench, Hannibal’s eyes locked on Will’s face, and his expression visibly softened, his eyes slackening just slightly and taking on a reflective quality. Will’s face warmed under Hannibal’s intense gaze, but he likewise couldn’t tear his eyes from his. Hannibal looked like a man who had been parched, and was drinking thirstily off the sight of Will alone. It was intoxicating. It was intoxicating until it became infuriating. _How dare he? How dare he find such comfort in my presence when his own causes me nothing but anguish?_

And with this thought, Will was suddenly overwhelmed with the memories of his weekend- a weekend he had spent mentally buried in Hannibal’s crimes, blood dripping from his own hands just as much as it had from Hannibal’s. The image of the countless bodies strewn mercilessly at Hannibal’s feet- the figures of Abigail and Beverly especially- reignited the fury that lay deep within Will’s bones. He could feel the burn start in the middle of his chest and engulf the rest of him rapidly. The abrupt shift in emotion must have shown on his face, for a slight narrowing of Hannibal’s eyes betrayed his recognition of the shift. He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on Will’s, even as Will finally forced himself to look away from him and face the judge stubbornly. 

When Hannibal had been secured to the desk, the judge walked in and began the proceedings for the day. Today would be the second day that the prosecution was presenting evidence for Hannibal’s slaughter of _Olmstead, Jeremy_ before beginning with evidence from the case of _Boyle, Cassie_. 

The prosecutor- a Stephanie Ramirez- projected images of Jeremy onto a screen off to the left side of the courtroom. Her heels clicked as she paced back and forth in front of the screen, dramatically recounting how Hannibal had ruthlessly driven the countless medical tools into Jeremy while he had still been alive. 

Will watched the faces of the jury members closely, trying to ascertain their opinions of Hannibal’s sanity based on the first case they had been presented. He imagined that if he were hearing of this case for the first time, without having known Hannibal, he would assume that whoever had done this was insane. 

When Ms. Ramirez arrived at the conclusion of the case, she described how Hannibal had taken Jeremy’s liver and thymus, prepared them in his own kitchen, and then proceeded to feed the organs to unwitting guests at a dinner party he had hosted. Will observed the jury members digest this piece of information with only detached interest. He had long gotten over his own aversion to cannibalism, having found it surprisingly easy to rationalize, as he had done in the case of Randall Tier. Even outside of Randall, Will had faced only minimal initial shock but had found himself drawn to Hannibal’s table nonetheless. He absentmindedly wondered if Hannibal would still be willing to cook a meal for him with all the care he once had. _He would offer you his own heart on a platter, if you would accept it. He already offered you his broken heart once before, and you rejected it. But look, even now, he offers._ Will tried to ignore the voice in his head reminding him of Hannibal’s care for him, but he found himself glancing at Hannibal anyway. 

Hannibal could not turn and look at him, so Will simply stared at the back of his perfectly groomed hair. Without being able to see his face radiating confidence, Will could see Hannibal’s situation more clearly. He seemed smaller, as if he had lost probably fifteen or twenty pounds in the six months or so he’d be in prison. Not quite enough to look sickly, but enough to know he likely hadn’t been eating well at all. Though Hannibal’s posture was perfectly styled to exude a sense of authenticity to the courtroom, Will could read into the tension in Hannibal’s shoulders, could see the slightest tightening in his jaw. Hannibal moved to sit back in his chair a little, causing his chained handcuffs to slide back against the table with him. The sound sent a jolt through Will, and it was as if he was truly seeing the position that Hannibal was in for the first time. He had given up _everything_ that night he had knelt in Will’s driveway, risking the death penalty just so Will would know where he could always find him. 

This knowledge only brought the now familiar conflicting sense of emotions. For one, Will’s heart ached to see Hannibal caged like an animal; he tried to stamp out a sudden longing to wrap Hannibal in a blanket and feed him until he reached a healthy weight once again. But just as quickly, the image of Cassie Boyle’s young impaled body- which was now being projected to the jury- reminded Will of Hannibal’s sadism and cruelty, and he wanted him to pay for it. He wanted Hannibal to pay in blood. 

Will fought this torrent of emotions for the rest of the day, waves of both fury and protectiveness vying for attention, though fury was the clear winner today, just as it had been everyday since Hannibal had decided to take a saw to his head. 

He scratched at the scar on his forehead subconsciously, desperate to get home so he could sleep off the rest of his hangover. The pounding in his head hadn’t subsided much and even with coffee and some food, he still felt miserable, keeping his eyes on the floor or the back of Hannibal’s head for the majority of the day. 

The bang of the judge’s gavel as he dismissed them for the day caused Will to grimace in pain as his headache worsened. He was too busy massaging his temples with his eyes closed that he didn’t notice that Hannibal had seized the brief moment before he would be led out to turn from the defendant’s bench and face him, Alana, and Margot in the row right behind him. 

“Alana, Margot, a pleasure to see you.” Will’s head snapped up as he heard Hannibal greet the women next to him. Alana nodded at him briefly before brushing past Will to grab Hannibal’s lawyers for a quick question about her upcoming testimony. Margot exchanged pleasantries with Hannibal before moving to follow Alana, giving Will’s elbow a discrete squeeze of support as she passed. Will’s stomach tied itself in knots and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Hannibal, so he kept his eyes stubbornly downcast. 

“I was prepared to make a disparaging comment on your aftershave, but I am afraid it is not the most offensive smell on you today” Hannibal commented drily in Will’s direction. At that, Will looked up and frowned at Hannibal, but decided to not engage. He leant back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

“Tell me Will, what do you hope to find at the bottom of the whiskey bottle? It seems to keep eluding you, given that you expand your search to more and more bottles by the day.” A pause, and then, “Are you trying to find me?” That made the rage rise in Will again. 

“I told you I wouldn’t go looking for you.” Hannibal studied him curiously. 

“And yet you see me everywhere. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, I lurk in the shadows of your mind, yes? Perhaps you hope that the bottom of the bottle will allow you to forget me. Is that what you want, Will? To forget?” 

“I can’t forget. You made sure of that.” 

“One cannot forget what they cannot forgive.” 

“And I cannot forgive” Will said through clenched teeth. 

“Do you wish to forgive me? In the way you had planned before dear Chiyoh stopped you? Even now, do you wish to sink your knife in me, and in doing so, forgive me my existence?” Hannibal’s eyes searched Will’s with more than idle curiosity, but what exactly, Will could not name. 

“Yes” Will whispered softly, keeping his eyes locked with Hannibal’s. The corners of Hannibal’s mouth lifted every so slightly, and pride showed on his face for a mere moment before he carefully concealed his face in neutrality once again. 

Will’s own head was overflowing with images of him leaping over the banister to grab Hannibal by the back of the head and rip through his neck with his knife. He could _almost_ feel the blood that would soak him, could _just_ taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. 

“And the teacup gathers itself together again, right before my own eyes.” Will stiffened at that. 

“I made it quite clear the teacup will never gather itself back together again, Dr. Lecter.” 

“Dr. Lecter? Are we no longer on a first name basis?” 

“I’ve indicated I’m more comfortable the less personal we are.” Hannibal’s eyes flickered to the ground for a split second, the smallest indication that the jab had achieved its goal. 

“Yes. So you have indicated.” Will couldn’t help the twist in his stomach at the look of rejection on Hannibal’s face, slight as it was. It reminded him of the night Will had turned him away, when Hannibal had visibly frozen with the ice of rejection. His eyes now retained that icy quality, and Will hated the way his chest began to ache. 

And just like that, the moment ended. Hannibal was yanked away by his guards. Will couldn’t help but notice how his retreating figure looked much more like the prisoner he truly was compared to the confident man who had walked in this morning. Of course, Hannibal still carried himself with the same confidence he had that morning, but Will could have sworn the chains clanked louder this time, and the guards held him tighter. He looked like a bird whose wings had just been clipped. _They were clipped. He clipped them for you. You’re the only reason he’s here right now. He’s doing it all for you._ That thought burned inside of his head and he longed for Hannibal’s touch to steady him. But he couldn’t have that. _You sent him away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for warring emotions!! Next chapter the trial is going to start speeding up because I'm not going through each individual case- so don't worry about it getting too technical! Prepare for some testimony from Alana and some "psychiatric care" from our dear Bedelia. 
> 
> As always thanks for reading!! It literally makes my day to see people reading this :)


	10. Tell Me Will, What Do You Want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this next chapter was going to be moving forward with the trial, but Will had other plans for me haha. He needed to work through some stuff so that's what this chapter is about! We'll get back to the trial next chapter though! 
> 
> (but updates may be slower because finals :/ but I will be back when I can)
> 
> and as always, thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! <3

Will stared thoughtfully into the darkness that had settled around his house. The soft light emanating from his windows made the night fog shimmer and Will was reminded of the countless nights he had spent on a dock of the Louisiana bayou, his feet dipped in the cool water as he gazed, transfixed, at the fog over the water. Fog had always fascinated Will, in an odd way. It was grey. And Will felt grey. 

He looked grey too, as he studied himself in the mirror that evening. The bags under his eyes had grown and his skin was sallow, tinging his complexion...grey. He felt like he was fading once again, perhaps becoming fog himself. If he could simply hover over water thoughtlessly, he thought he’d take that opportunity right now. 

The fog seemed to seep through the cracks in his walls and settle within the house, oozing into Will’s very bones. The air around him felt heavy and brought images of Hannibal’s retreating figure as he was pulled out of the courtroom, and back to his cage, to the forefront of Will’s mind. The sound of his swinging handcuffs seemed to echo relentlessly in Will’s ears, rising in pitch until it was just a high, metallic ringing. Will clasped his hands over his ears and tried to stop the whining-  _ god it hurt _ \- but to no avail. The ringing rose to a fever pitch and Will’s vision faded to black. 

_ Will blinked in the afternoon light with confusion before drawing himself up in bed. Rubbing his eyes, he saw Hannibal and Chiyoh talking on his porch. Scattered memories of the night before came rushing back and Will could only really remember having been sedated by Hannibal after Cordell had tried to remove his face. And then there was something else… he slowly came to remember Hannibal carrying him back to his house, placing him in bed, cleaning his wounds, stitching up his face… Will had been in and out of consciousness but the heat of Hannibal’s hands on his face was as clear a memory as any.  _

_ Hannibal opened the screen door to come back inside and Will drew himself up to lean against the wall, pulling the covers tighter around him. Hannibal gazed neutrally at him and took a seat in the chair at his bedside, marking a spot in his notebook before closing it in his lap.  _

_ “Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?” Hannibal asked, his voice conjuring up pleasant memories of their first sessions together. The memory hit hard. He had been so naive, to believe that Hannibal had been his friend then. He had been in his head, even then. The thought brought the memory of Italy to his mind, and Will remembered the dulled horror he had felt as Hannibal’s saw tore into his skull. Enough.  _

_ “The teacup is broken. It’ll never gather itself back together again.” Will spoke these words and knew that they were true.  _

_ “Not even in your mind? Your memory palace is building. It’s full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I’ve discovered you there. Victorious.” The thought of sharing rooms with Hannibal in their conjoined memory palaces was thrilling yet terrifying. To be conjoined with Hannibal was to give in to the Devil.  _

_ “When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory.” Will swallowed, his heart aching. He was so  _ tired _ of fighting, of fighting to end Hannibal, of fighting his own desire to meld with him.  _

_ “We are a zero-sum game?” Hannibal asked the question with the slightest hint of surprise. Hannibal, of course, assumed that Will would see the opportunity they had to conquer the world together. He couldn’t understand that should Will join him, he’d be losing himself in the process. For Will, it was a zero-sum game. Only shades of disadvantages.  _

_ But the surprise in Hannibal’s voice betrayed his underlying hope for them. Hope that they would run from this world together, in a mutually beneficial game. The deepest part of Will’s being longed to show Hannibal that no, they were not zero-sum. They could be so much more. He longed to reach out, take Hannibal’s hand in his, and thank him for saving him from Mason’s clutches. A whispered desire to envelop Hannibal in a soft kiss, if only to ease the tension in his lips that had formed as he processed that Will may see them as zero-sum.  _

_ Will’s own thoughts unleashed a panic that filled Will’s chest, threatening to rip out of him. Will desperately shoved his feelings down, intent on destroying them in the fire that burned within. Will knew in that moment that if he surrendered to his desire to run away with Hannibal, he would unleash the monster within them both and they would burn the world to the ground. For Will, his own growing desire to see that vision through disgusted him. He had to put a stop to this, had to save the lives they would take if he allowed himself to blur with Hannibal. His heart threatened to shatter as his mind decided what must be done. He had to stop Hannibal from running. He had to cage him.  _

_ “I miss my dogs. I’m not going to miss you. I’m not going to find you. I’m not going to look for you. I don’t want to know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore.” The words sliced his tongue and he could taste his own blood, but his voice betrayed none of this. The coldness in his voice struck Hannibal, and his face seemed to crumble imperceptibly.  _

_ “You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.” The words cut to Will’s core, activating his fear that he was just like Hannibal- a monster who thrived on wickedness. Will didn’t want it to be true.  _

_ “You delight. I tolerate.” Will aimed to isolate them, to force Hannibal to see him as someone who could never truly be his equal, his partner. Hannibal seemed to register the message but would remind Will of his true self.  _

_ “Tolerance is a fig leaf to hide your ravenous self from the world.” Will had no choice but to hide himself.  _

_ “I don’t have your appetite. Good-bye, Hannibal.” Will forced the words from his mouth, forced himself to make eye contact with Hannibal and hold his ground.  _

_ Hannibal stood slowly, grabbed his notebook, and walked to the door. He paused and turned, as if to reach out in a moment of rare desperation. He decided against it, and his figure fades from Will’s view.  _

_ It takes every ounce of Will’s power to not shatter like the teacup he is. Perhaps he is already shattered. He doesn’t even know anymore.  _

Will’s eyes shoot open and he finds himself huddled on the floor, slick with sweat. He sits up unsteadily and strips his shirt off, trying desperately to cool the heat that radiates off of his skin. The sheer force of the memories had sent him into a panic and he found it fitting that he now sat in the middle of his house, shaking with the force of his emotions. 

His heart was a dead weight in his chest, threatening to fall straight through his body to his feet. He couldn’t stop seeing the flashing images of Hannibal’s retreating figure- him leaving his house after being turned away by Will, him being taken away in shackles in the courtroom. He ached to stop that retrating form, to grasp his arm and stop him from leaving him again.  _ He left because you gave him no other choice. _ Will reached for the whiskey. 

His lips hovered over the rim of the glass, the desire to  _ forget _ and the desire to  _ find _ Hannibal at the bottom of the glass competed for Will’s attention and Will knew that Hannibal had been right earlier that day. He drank to forget his own desire to find Hannibal, and Hannibal seemed to know it, to some extent. 

Will frowned down at the glass. With characteristic impulsivity, he stood and walked to the kitchen sink and poured out his glass, and then his open bottle, and then every ounce of alcohol he had in his possession. He was full of shame at Hannibal calling him out on his drinking, and he was full of disgust with himself. He had to pull himself together. 

After recycling the bottles, he closed the door on them, literally and metaphorically. He showered to remove the alcohol scent that clung to him, and scrubbed his hair of the grease that had built up from his lack of showering over the past couple of days. He washed his body idly, thinking of nothing and everything. He ran his fingertips along the scar on his stomach and the image of Hannibal reaching out to cup his cheek on that fateful night two years ago flashed before him. He could see the pain in Hannibal’s eyes then, and it was the same expression he had seen flicker for just a moment in Hannibal’s eyes earlier in court. Guilt rushed through Will, and he was filled with an intense desire to reach out and hold Hannibal. 

_ Just one moment _ , Will told himself. He would allow himself just one brief moment to truly  _ feel _ how Hannibal made him feel. 

_ Hannibal stood in the foyer of the Norman Chapel in Palermo, Italy, his back turned to Will as he gazed at the mosaic of the saints on the ceiling. He turned when he heard Will approach, an indulging smile on his face. Will walked toward him, and this time he did not stop himself from grasping Hannibal’s forearm. Hannibal looked down at where Will held him tightly, and glanced up at his face, searching.  _

_ Will reached up with his opposite hand to cup Hannibal’s cheek, his thumb running along his jaw. Hannibal closed his eyes briefly at the contact, before his eyes flew open and locked with Will’s.  _

_ The scenery changed and they were in Hannibal’s office. Hannibal stood in front of his desk and Will stood off to his side, reaching for him.  _

_ “Tell me Will, what do you want?”  _

_ Will didn’t answer, just tried to grasp at Hannibal’s hand, which he pulled away.  _

_ “I will not allow you to deny me in the same space that you reach for me. Tell me, what do you want?”  _

_ “You” Will whispered. Hannibal’s gaze softened at that and he pulled Will to him harshly, his fingers tangling into his curls as he tilted his head back before bringing his lips to his. Will let out a surprised huff before kissing Hannibal back with such passion that can only come from a love too long denied.  _

_ Hannibal deepened the kiss before pulling back abruptly. Will saw only the briefest flash of metal before the knife was buried within him and dragged across his stomach, emptying him of gouts of blood. He sank to his knees before Hannibal, covered in his own blood and raised a hand to Hannibal, as if to reach for him. Hannibal just stared down at him with detached coolness.  _

_ “Hannibal-” Will rasped.  _

_ “Goodbye, Will,” Hannibal said instead, before he took a step back, turned on his heel, and then Will was left staring after his retreating form once again.  _

It was too much for Will, this time. He slid down the wall of the shower to sit on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. His heart burst under the assault of a thousand knives, all shaped exactly like the one Hannibal used to penetrate him. The duality of Hannibal- his love and his cold rage- was tortuous but Will knew in that moment that this was exactly what he had done to Hannibal time and time again. Dangled his companionship and affection as bait only to pull it away at the last moment and deliver a stab of betrayal instead.  _ I deserve it. I deserve it all. _ Will let out a sob of frustration. He pulled at his hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Tears combined with the stream of the shower, hiding the evidence of his despair as they were whisked away. 


	11. Duality

Will felt regrettably clear-headed when he awoke the next morning. Having tossed out his entire alcohol supply the previous night, he had also discarded the chance to drown his feelings before passing out, drunkenly unaware of all the pain he was avoiding. Instead, he had crawled into bed uncharacteristically early, snuggled up with his dogs, and stared at the waning crescent through his window for the better part of the night. 

Waking up without a hangover was a rarity these days for Will, and in an odd way he missed the pounding headache that accompanied it. It was a pain he could endure and simultaneously use to distract himself from the heartache that had become a steady, dull presence in his chest. But something had changed for Will last night. Hannibal had gotten under his skin about the drinking and Will was now determined to hide any external evidence of how this case was affecting him, if only to spite Hannibal. Some small voice in the back of Will’s mind told him that Hannibal had been trying to help Will, in his own odd way, by pushing Will to quit drinking the only way he knew how- by treating it as a weakness he saw in Will. To Will’s dismay, the strategy ( _ if _ that’s what Hannibal had been doing) had worked, and Will resolved Hannibal would see no weakness in him if he could help.  _ I have to hold it together. He can’t know. He doesn’t deserve to know.  _

With that in mind, Will pulled himself out of bed with a groan and began to dress for court. He avoided his shower like the plague this morning, desperate to forget his breakdown the night before had ever happened. He simply decided to shove those feelings away in a box in his mind and never open it, along with the many other boxes that lay in this particular overflow room in his own memory palace. 

He looked in the mirror appraisingly, straightening his grey jacket. It was a jacket he had often worn while lecturing at the FBI, though he had made sure to wear a light blue button-down shirt instead of the plaid he had typically donned in the classroom. It was slightly worn, but he wore it out of a subconscious desire for something familiar. He pulled on a navy blue tie and combed his hair back. He was still a little self-conscious about the scar on his forehead, but decided he would rather wear it and act unphased than let Hannibal see him hide it. He turned to leave but as an afterthought, added a couple drops of his “ship-on-the-bottle” aftershave to his jawline and neck (though he hadn’t shaved) just to annoy Hannibal.  _ Take that, fucker _ . 

Jack was always on time. So, at exactly 6:00 am, Will heard Jack’s knock and met him at the door with two steaming travel mugs of coffee. Jack’s eyebrows rose in unrestrained surprise. 

“Yesterday I almost have to drag your ass out of bed because you’re hungover and today you greet me with coffee? What the hell is with you, Will?” 

“I attended an AA meeting and changed my ways, all thanks to you.” Jack’s eyes rose impossibly higher, clearly missing Will’s sarcastic drawl. 

“Really?” 

“No.” Jack sighed in irritation at that and shook his head before leading them to the car. Once in the warmth of the car, Will felt a very rare pull to divulge unsolicited personal information to Jack. 

“I did quit drinking though, last night. It was… time.” Jack nodded slowly.

“Glad to hear it, Will. You look a hell of a lot better today than you did yesterday so I would say it’s already doing you some good.” Will snorted softly at that. A few minutes of companionable silence stretched by before Will surprised himself by offering even more information. 

“My dad was an alcoholic. We were poor as all hell, but he made sure he always had enough cash to replenish his stash of beer. I swore to myself I’d never become like him.” Will stared at the floor of the car stubbornly as he said this, silently pleading whatever deity may exist to stop Jack from making it awkward. 

“I drank for a while after Bella died.” His hand twitched on the steering wheel before he cleared his throat and spoke with a strained voice. “After I killed her, that is. I couldn’t stop the memories, the sounds of her last few breaths, the image of her lying there… let’s just say there’s no judgement coming from me after all you’ve been through.” He clamped his mouth shut and neither of them said anything for the rest of the ride to the courthouse, though for once, the silence wasn’t awkward. 

They had arrived at the courthouse about half an hour early so that Jack could discuss the case details with Agent Prurnell. Will refused to go with him, adamant that he would not be stepping into that courthouse one minute earlier than he absolutely had to, not to mention he was always less than keen to come into contact with Kade. So, instead, Will paced the edge of the parking lot, desperate to do something with all the nervous energy he had built up. The parking lot of the courthouse was connected to what appeared to be a relatively decently-sized park in which the employees of the courthouse and surrounding government facilities could take their lunch. Will walked to one of the picnic tables in said park and plopped down, sighing loudly. He twisted and untwisted a blade of grass in his fingers and pretended to be quite invested in this action when he heard someone walk up behind him. 

“May I join you?” came the voice of Dr. Chilton.  _ If you must. _ Will shrugged, and Chilton took the careless gesture as permission to sit at the bench across from Will. He folded his arms on the table and stared at Will, clearly expecting him to glance up, so Will purposefully amused himself by seeing how far he could flick the blade of grass across the table, eyes downcast. 

“Oh, I do miss the days of our little conversations, don’t you Mr. Graham? You, sitting across from me, talking in circles about  _ Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal _ .” 

“Too bad you didn’t listen. Could’ve saved you some time.” 

“Ah, but I did listen. The problem was that no one listened to me, either, you see. And then our dear friend Dr. Lecter saw fit to frame  _ me  _ as the Ripper to discredit me, because he knew I was on to him, thanks to you. But that wasn’t the only reason he framed me, was it?” Chilton asked slyly. Will’s eyes shot up at that, wary of where this conversation was heading. 

“He didn’t just frame me to save his own skin, though that was undoubtedly one of his primary motivations. However, you, Mr. Graham, are central to this as well. Hannibal just couldn’t handle the separation from his little science experiment, now could he?” Chilton smirked smugly and Will desperately fought the urge to leap over the table to attack him. 

_ Chilton’s head slammed against the concrete under the picnic table as Will tackled him to the ground. He grimaced in pain and tried to bring his hands up to protect his face, but Will batted them out of the way as if he was simply swatting an irritating fly. Will fell to his knees to straddle Chilton, pinning his legs beneath him. Chilton looked up at him with an expression of pure terror, and Will absolutely loved it. His lip curled in satisfaction as his fist connected with Chilton’s jaw with a startling crack. The crack only served to fuel his bloodlust and Will threw his full weight behind a second punch to Chilton’s nose, causing blood to pour thickly down his face. Will’s hands quickly became soaked with blood and he gazed down at them in fascination, his breath hitching at the sight.  _

_ A sudden shift in the air caused the hairs to stand up on Will’s arm and his head snapped up to find the source. In the middle of the field, Hannibal sat in the chair he had usually occupied during he and Will’s therapy sessions, his legs crossed. He doesn’t say anything, but simply observes with a mildly calculating glint in his eye. Will glanced back down at Chilton below him, now unconscious, and takes in the bloody creation of his own design. Will looked to Hannibal once again, but he’s disappeared and Will is left staring at an empty field.  _

It is this empty field Will stares at now, trying to hold himself back from seeing his vision through and leaving Chilton split open on the ground.  _ Even though the bastard deserves it _ . 

“Get to the point, Frederick,” Will says, drawing out each syllable of Chilton’s name with obvious distaste. Chilton sniffs snobbishly but ignores it all the same.

“Hannibal didn’t just frame me for himself. He framed me  _ for _ you. You are, most assuredly, the only thing he is remotely capable of caring about. As such, it is of the utmost import that you at least appear to be on his side. To do otherwise would only further encourage his insufferable apathy regarding his case.” Will actually turned to look in Chilton’s eyes for once. 

“Apathy? That doesn’t sound very much like Hannibal. If he appears apathetic, it’s only because he’s playing a game with you. An elaborate game of solitaire, and we’re just his cards.” 

“If we are his cards, you, Mr. Graham, are our Ace of Hearts. Hannibal does not care about the outcome of his case, not really. He is perfectly content with winning his insanity plea, just as he is content with losing it and receiving the death penalty. He demonstrates no extra effort to bolster his plea, but doesn’t work to detract from the case either. He is truly neutral, and it will hurt his case.” Will frowned, trying to decipher whatever master plan Hannibal was concocting behind this behavior. 

“But what does this have to do with me? Why am I the “ace,” as you say?” he asked, still not understanding what he could possibly have to do with Hannibal’s outlook on his case. 

“As I said, you’re the only thing he cares about, if that’s even what you can call it. I’m…  _ optimistic _ that your added  _ support _ to his case will go a long way, both in possibly inspiring more proactivity on Hannibal’s part, but also in terms of garnering the jury to our side.”  _ Ah. And there it is. _

“You want me to perjure myself. For Hannibal.” Will scowled in frustration. “You would put me on that witness stand, ask me about how I felt watching someone I loved die by Hannibal’s hand, and then ask me to  _ lie _ about who Hannibal is, just so you could win your case?” Chilton smugness had faded somewhat and he seemed a little more serious. 

“You would be saving his life. Isn’t your empathy worth anything?” At that, Will jumped to his feet in barely restrained anger. 

“As you people keep reminding me,” he spat, “my empathy is worth  _ everything _ . And unfortunately for Hannibal, unfortunately for you since you apparently care so goddamn much, 

my empathy also works the other way around and I feel for  _ every. single. fucking. life _ that he took. Beverly mattered. Abigail mattered. All the innocent lives he took mattered. And I refuse to perjure myself for the monster who would do that.” Chilton looked satisfyingly shocked so Will turned on his heel and strode towards the courthouse, desperate to get space from Chilton and his audacity.  _ I fucking swear, one of these days he’ll pay for it.  _

Will paced restlessly outside the door to the courtroom, glancing at his watch every other minute, desperate to get inside and get the day over with. He was still fuming from Chilton’s pathetic attempt to convince him to lie under oath about Hannibal’s “insanity.” It wasn’t even the details of  _ what _ Chilton had asked as much as it was about  _ why  _ he had asked. Chilton had assumed that Will’s empathy would cause him to take pity on Hannibal, to go to extremes to protect him. The thought made Will’s anger flare again, and he pulled on the locked doors to the courtroom in frustration. The fact that Chilton thought it was even a  _ possibility _ that Will would lie for Hannibal, after everything he’s done… 

Will froze and his stomach clenched in a moment of pure terror. Beverly stood across the hall from him, eyes an unseeing and frosty white. She did not move and she did not speak, but she seemed to stare past the white film in her eyes and into his very soul. Will imagined that all she could see of his soul was wisps of grey floating loosely around a black and twisted center. 

He took a step towards her hesitantly, glancing up and down the hall to make sure he was alone. He came to stand within a couple feet of her and his head tilted to the side slightly as his eyes roamed over her face, frozen in death. 

“What do you see?” he asked her, his voice breaking ever so slightly. She didn’t answer at first but instead held out her hands in front of her, palms facing upwards. 

“Duality,” she said simply. She made a gesture with her left hand that seemed to indicate that he should grab it. He reached out his hand warily and rested his hand gently on top of hers. As soon as his hand made contact with the coldness of her skin, several images flashed quickly in front of his eyes.

The first image of Will covered in blood, shaking with adrenaline and with power. This Will was  _ becoming _ , and he stood with such a confidence Will had never seen himself display. 

The second image startled Will and yet he could not look away. Hannibal stood next to Vision Will and pointed towards a faceless man and Vision Will nodded, making Hannibal smile. The two walked towards the faceless man in perfect synchronicity before Hannibal reached for the man first, quickly securing the man’s hands behind him, leaving his chest open and vulnerable to Vision Will. Vision Will stood before the man, gazing shrewdly at him. Then, just as quickly as Hannibal had moved, so too did Vision Will, plunging a knife into the man’s sternum and dragging it down slowly, causing the man’s intestines to spill out onto the floor below him. Hannibal gazed up at Vision Will in unconcealed adoration and the image began to shift. 

The third image was clearly the most disturbing but Will couldn’t even remind himself to be horrified by it. The image mirrored a vision Will had seen many times before- Hannibal standing bloody amongst a mangled pile of his victims. This Hannibal, however, differed from the past Hannibals of his visions in that he was not unseeing with cloudy eyes, but his eyes were instead bright and wide as they settled on the man that had just joined his side. This man was Will and was not Will; he was a Will who had  _ become _ . This Will was likewise covered in blood and Will realized that several more bodies had joined the pile beneath them, growing taller and taller as the two of them were elevated ever higher. Hannibal reached out to the Will next to him with a gesture so tender that the Vision Will couldn’t help but fold into his arms, resting his head on Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal wrapped an arm around Will’s waist and Will sought his lips, and the last thing Will saw of the image was the two of them engaged in a passionate kiss amongst a bloody tableau of their own creation. 

Beverly lowered her hand from under Will’s as this last image faded from view and Will barely had enough time to process what he had seen before he was clasping her right hand and being shown a different set of images. 

The first of these images showed Will desperately fighting to save a faceless man’s life. Despite the fact that he was faceless, Will somehow knew that this was the same faceless man from the other vision. The man laid out on the ground, bleeding profusely, but Will pressed a hand firmly into the man’s wound, trying with all of his might to  _ give  _ life and protect it rather than take it. 

The second image almost brought Will to his knees in despair. Abigail laughed joyfully next to the Will in the vision one moment and the next moment, she stared in horror as Hannibal approached her, his face set in a neutral but commanding expression. He gestured for her to come to him but Will stepped between them, shielding Abigail with his body. This Will stood bravely before Hannibal and he paid for it. Hannibal stepped forward and sank his knife into Will’s chest this time, twisting harshly when he reached his heart, and Hannibal let his body fall with a  _ thump _ as the image shifted. 

The third image showed a righteously angry Will, his face set in a hard line as he approached Hannibal, tied and shackled in a kneeling position before him. The ghosts of Hannibal’s victims rallied behind Will, Abigail and Beverly on either side of him, as he came forward to carry out justice. Will knelt on the ground in front of Hannibal and reached forward to cup either side of his face, causing Hannibal to close his eyes and lean his head back to savor the moment. Will took the opportunity then to twist quickly, snapping Hannibal’s neck in half. The image left just as quickly as it had come and Will was staring at Beverly’s clouded eyes once again. 

Will tried to speak but found that he seemed to have lost his voice. He felt like crying, laughing, and screaming all at once. But all he did was stare hopelessly at her face, saddened by the fact he couldn’t see her careless and teasing smile once again. He took several steps back from the Beverly That Was Not Beverly and ran a hand through his hair slowly before he was soon clutching the wall for support to keep from passing out. 

The intense polarization of the two sets of images Beverly had shown him left Will feeling dizzy. He saw himself so clearly in both images; both visions had been ideal versions of him, depending on which ideal he felt like prioritizing.  _ Concepts of an ideal _ , he silently amended. 

Not for the first time, Will could feel himself splitting down the middle, could practically  _ hear _ the rip that started at his forehead and descended through his chest and towards his navel. 

_ Duality _ , Beverly had said. Will held the epitome of conflicting desires within his chest and the knowledge of that alone was enough to send his mind reeling. Before he could descend too far down the black hole of his mind, the sound of creaking wooden doors opening brought him back to reality. 

Will was able to evade the clutches of Alana, as she appeared to be fighting rather animatedly with Chilton, and instead opted to sit somewhere in the middle of the courtroom, where he hoped to blend in with the crowd. The pull of the prosecution’s side had won out today (the image of a dead Beverly and Abigail were still very fresh in his mind), so he ended up sitting several rows behind Jack. Will was certain he had evaded everyone’s notice before the sound of two bickering voices nearing closer to him reached his ears, causing him to mentally roll his eyes in annoyance. 

“Hey, Will,” Price said a little awkwardly, but with a friendly smile nonetheless. Zeller simply nodded at Will, content to stay more distant from Will in case he was the  _ murder husband _ Freddie Lounds had insinuated him to be. Will could hardly blame him, but it seemed Price thought differently. He elbowed Zeller hard in the ribs and whispered (rather loudly) that it was rude not to say hello to Will and the two of them were soon full out bickering again as they sat in the seats next to Will. 

Will tuned them out and his gaze drifted towards the defendant’s bench, which was still empty. Margot must have caught him staring because she gave him a sad smile when he realized she was watching him. He quickly glanced away and instead stared straight ahead, praying that they would get started soon. 

The prosecutor, Ms. Ramirez, was talking with Jack and they both glanced in his direction, causing him to narrow his eyes. Jack must have sensed his annoyance and after exchanging a few more words with her, made his way towards Will. 

“Ms. Ramirez thinks we should be moving on to Katz’ case by the end of the week, which means it’s almost time for you to take the witness stand. You remember what I told you you needed to do before then?”  _ Bedelia. Shit, shit, shit.  _ “Have you done it yet?” 

“I will.” Jack looked over Will appraisingly. 

“I’ll talk to her, let her know, but make sure you two figure it out as soon as possible. We’ll need you soon.” Will just nodded absentmindedly. His gaze had shifted now to the door that opened at the side of the courtroom to let Hannibal in. Will watched as Hannibal discreetly inhaled, his nostrils flaring only briefly before he seemed to find what he was searching for. Hannibal’s eyes snapped to him almost immediately afterwards. As Hannibal was forced towards the defendant’s bench, his eyes remained locked on Will’s and he breathed in even deeper before the corner of his lip lifted in the slightest ghost of a smile that was almost… fond. Will’s face warmed as he remembered his moment of spite earlier that morning in which he had splashed on his “ship-on-the-bottle” aftershave despite not having shaved. 

The judge began the day’s session and Ms. Ramirez dove back into the case they were currently reviewing- the death of Judge Davies. Davies had been the judge during Will’s trial that had refused to allow the new evidence that would have aided Will’s defense, ultimately prompting Hannibal to murder him and form a tableau in which the judge was blinded, and staged to be shown weighing the heart against the mind. 

Will had known, back then, that it was Hannibal who had killed the judge, almost immediately upon seeing the display. Too deep in his own lust for revenge, Will had not seen then that this was a kill Hannibal had done  _ for  _ Will, in  _ protection _ of him. As Will listened to the details of the case again now and saw the images of the tableau- _ the art _ \- Hannibal had made from the body, he could now see clearly how Hannibal had killed the judge in a rare act of anger, punishing the judge for interfering with Will’s prospects for freedom. 

Even now, this new revelation inspired both an intense wave of anger towards Hannibal over the life he had taken but also a rush of loyalty towards him, and an admiration for the art he had made on Will’s behalf. 

The judge’s tableau had been poetic, surely, but Will felt it was even more poetic and reflective of how he felt right now. He felt, as the judge had been, blinded and unable to see the situation at hand clearly. His mind engaged in a ceaseless war with his heart, and though he tried to weigh them against each other, he still ultimately could not see which way the scales tipped.

He couldn’t help but wonder whether his mind or his heart would win in the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone so much for reading!!! I am so excited for what's in store for Will and can't wait to hear about your reactions to it! As always, I appreciate every single person who reads, comments, and leaves kudos! Y'all are so inspiring !


	12. Beverly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait on this update!!! I had to get through exam season and then had a rather major surgery so I was out of it for a while. But I'm back!! As always, thanks for reading <3

The next few days were much like all of the others; Will woke early, made subpar coffee, and tried his best to survive the day in court without either killing Hannibal or leaping to his defense. The last details tying Hannibal to the murder of Judge Davies were being presented, which also meant that Beverly’s case would soon begin. And because Will would be called upon to testify, he had to actually follow through on his court-ordered psych evaluation with Bedelia.  _ Fuck my life _ . 

Because he and Bedelia both were attending court everyday, they had agreed to meet in a spare room loaned out to them by the courthouse during the lunch hour on Thursday. It was outside this spare room that Will now stood, absentmindedly wondering how Hannibal would eat Bedelia if he chose to.  _ He’d probably roast her leg and eat it in front of her. He’d delight in the wickedness of it.  _

A jangling of keys roused Will from his musings and alerted him to the approach of a janitorial staff member, with Bedelia following close behind. The janitor unlocked the spare room for them and cast an odd look between them, as if he had picked up on the animosity that already hung thick between them. As the janitor shuffled off, Bedelia walked into the room ahead of Will and took a seat at the long wooden table that lay in the center of the room. The room, with its windowless white walls, stale air, and hard-looking chairs, was clearly designed for what Will assumed were equally unpleasant tasks as what he was about to endure, such as tax evasion depositions or lawsuits regarding interstate commerce. He took the seat across the table from Bedelia-  _ they were  _ really  _ hard chairs-  _ and stared at her blankly. Bedelia, however, was hardly phased by the rudeness that emanated from him. 

“Hello, Will,” she drawled slowly, a falsely polite smile flitting across her face. 

“Bedelia,” he answered, distaste rolling off of him in waves. 

“I hear that you have come to rely on the consumption of alcohol for the repression of your feelings about Hannibal’s incarceration.”  _ Straight to it, then. _

“To ‘rely’ on something implies one has full confidence in it; I do not have any confidence in the ability of alcohol to do anything as remotely helpful as repression.” 

“By stating that repression would be helpful, you exhume the skeletons of the treacherous thoughts you have slain in your restless nights.” Her eyes drifted across his face, coldly calculating. 

“You miss him, as one misses their cancerous organ after it has been removed. Have you been to see him?” The question hit Will like a swift kick to the ribs. He nearly doubled over with the force of the guilt and hatred that rose within him. _Does that mean she’s been to see him?_

“No.” Bedelia smirked a little at that, unable- _ or unwilling _ \- to hide the satisfaction she drew from his answer. 

“Have you been to see him?” Will couldn’t help the insecurity that wove its way into the question, causing his voice to falter slightly at the end. If Bedelia noticed, she miraculously decided to refrain from commenting on it. 

“I’ve seen enough of Hannibal. Though he still sends greeting cards, accompanied by recipes, naturally.” 

“If he does end up eating you, Bedelia, you’d have it coming.” Bedelia just stared blankly back at Will before shrugging slightly. 

“I can’t blame him for doing what evolution has equipped him to do.”  _ Bullshit. _

“If we just do whatever we were  _ equipped  _ to do, murder and cannibalism are morally acceptable.” 

“They are acceptable. To murderers and cannibals. And you.” Will’s face showed nothing of the discomfort Bedelia’s comment caused him, yet even his affinity for denial couldn’t save him from his mind acknowledging there was some truth to her statement. That acknowledgement, however, only encouraged him to strike out at her. 

“And you. You were with him  _ behind the veil _ , as you are prone to claiming. You’re the bride of Frankenstien.” Will expected his comment to at least bother her but she only seemed to be encouraged by it. 

“We’ve both been his bride,” she said, smirking slightly, and Will couldn’t help the slight heat that rose in his cheeks. 

“I am not his  _ bride _ ,” he ground out, frustration getting the better of him. 

“No, you aren’t, are you? But if Hannibal had his way, he would have had his…  _ consummation _ … of your relationship some time ago.” This time Will knows for a fact that his face has reddened enough for it to be noticeable, but he does his best to maintain his composure, if only to annoy Bedelia. 

“However, unfortunately for Hannibal, he does not seem to see how entirely inadequate a bride you would be. Any  _ consummation _ between the two of you would only leave him entirely disappointed; he would devour you as divine retribution.” She sniffed slightly as she said it, not bothering to disguise her disdain. Despite how embarrassing her analogies were, Will pressed on in an effort to appease the curiosity that had awoken when she had implied he’d be an unsuitable partner to Hannibal.

“You’re not convinced I’m a killer?” he asked, his head cocked to the side. 

“You’re not a killer. You’re capable of righteous violence because you are compassionate.” 

“Am I?” 

“You’re walking down the street and see a wounded bird; what’s your first thought?” Will crossed one leg over the other and thought briefly, trying to feel for the trap before just answering honestly. 

“It’s vulnerable, and I want to help it.” 

“My first thought is also that it’s vulnerable. Yet I want to crush it. A primal rejection of weakness, just as natural as the nurturing instinct. The next time your instinct is to help Hannibal, you should really consider crushing him instead.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Silence fell between the two of them, and Will searched her appraisingly. He couldn’t help the curiosity, and perhaps jealousy, he felt when he thought back to how he had found Hannibal and Bedelia playing house in Italy. He couldn’t stop himself from further expressing his distaste for her. 

“And as for you, Bedelia, you don’t seem to be too terribly concerned with the outcome of Hannibal’s trial. Would Mrs. Fell really leave her husband alone, subject to the whims of a jury functionally incapable of perceiving his being?” Bedelia leaned back in her chair, picking distractedly at a piece of lint on her dress in effort to appear nonchalant. 

“Lydia Fell no longer exists in this world. Perhaps she never really existed. How could Lydia Fell compare to the esteemed Will Graham?” she drew out his name as if it were physically painful for her to say. Will frowned and rubbed at the crease between his eyebrows. 

“Lydia was a… partner of sorts to her husband, no? Did this Lydia delight in wickedness, or did she just tolerate it?” 

“Lydia was an observer. She watched her husband in an effort to see the world through his eyes.” Will scoffed. 

“Lydia lied to herself in order to rationalize, and perhaps even justify, the  _ impulses _ that she had fought for so long.” Will grinned in a sort of twisted way at that, pleased with the slightest crack he had begun to see in Bedelia’s facade. 

“But pooooor Bedelia,” Will drawled sarcastically, “your naivete led to you being stuck in a rather precarious position, no? Just one of Bluebeard’s wives, biding your time before he slaughters you for his own amusement.” 

“If I am to be one of Bluebeard’s wives, I would have preferred to be the last,” Bedelia snapped, looking at him pointedly. Will simply glared at her over the top of his glasses before he sighed and leaned forward over the table, pleasure flickering in his chest as he saw the faintest flinch in Bedelia’s shoulders. 

“Maybe Hannibal doesn’t see you as one of these  _ wives _ you talk about; perhaps he sees you as nothing more than a bird with a clipped wing, struggling on the sidewalk. I wonder, Bedelia, how long will it be before he crushes you?” Will could detect the slight change in Bedelia's face, indicating her residual fear. The knowledge excited him, and his body thrummed with the heady power of his threat. Her expression turned to one of disgust. 

“Perhaps you two deserve each other after all. You’ve long passed the point of no return. He’s going to devour you, Mr. Graham.” With that, she made an agonizingly slow show of placing paperwork on the table, brandishing her pen like a sword. 

“This paper, now complete with my signature, will indicate to Judge Honesworth that you are of sound mind and able to participate as a witness in Hannibal’s case.” She slid the paper across the table to Will, who flipped briefly through the document before offering a curt nod. 

“I was under the impression I would be subjected to endure two sessions with you before receiving your signature” Will stated, eyes still fixed on the paperwork in order to avoid Bedelia’s stare. 

“As aforementioned, you have long since passed the point where I could be of any help to you,” she said as she leaned forward, her eyes flickering with disdain. “Not to mention I likewise have no desire to conduct sessions with you; you are an insufferable patient and I will not subject myself to watch Hannibal’s conquering of your mind, body, and soul as you ignore warnings from everyone in your immediate circle. When the time comes, your blood will be on your own hands, no one else’s, not even Hannibal’s. You have allowed yourself to be seduced by him and I rather abhor the idea of watching the world burn under any partnership you may pursue with Hannibal.” She slid her pen back into her bag and stood, smoothing the red skirt that brought images of blood to Will’s mind. She offered a fake, cold smile to Will as she bid him farewell and stalked out of the room with her head held high. The click of her heels as she walked further down the hall was the only sound Will could hear, and the sound reverberated in his head. 

Will glanced down at the paperwork once again. She had rubber-stamped him, just as Hannibal had when Jack first sent Will to him. Hannibal had meant it as a gesture of trust and goodwill but Bedelia simply couldn’t be bothered. Will growled in frustration and drummed his fingers idly on the sleek mahogany desk. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet and began to make his way down the hall. He finally reached the courtroom and slipped inside, choosing a seat hidden in a back corner. 

The courtroom from this angle provided Will with a level of detachment he hadn’t previously felt. He felt as if he was looking into the courtroom from a window, at a case in which he hadn’t known the defendant, or anyone else. Will found himself basking in the feeling, longing for separation from the disaster that his life had become. 

As the day drew to an end, the prosecution closed the case on the murder of Judge Davies. Will looked up at the projected image of Judge Davies’ tableau and frowned. This had been an act of retribution from Hannibal. Hannibal had acted in anger, punishing the Judge for denying Will a line of defense that could have saved him. Will struggled against his desire to openly appreciate the beauty in the tableau that Hannibal had organized in honor of Will. With his eyes running over the heart and brain on the scales that Judge Davies was holding, Will could literally feel the anger Hannibal had felt, and he gripped the edge of the chair he was sitting in in an effort to remain in control. Not only was he overwhelmed with rage, he was uncomfortably aware of underlying fondness and loyalty that the tableau inspired within him. He couldn’t make himself hate Hannibal for the tableau, as it had been constructed in honor of Will himself. He hated himself for not hating it. 

Judge Honesworth banged his gavel twice on the podium and the session came to an end. Will jumped to his feet and made his way to the courtroom doors, not even bothering to glance back. In his haste, he missed Hannibal’s eyes trailing after him and the whispers that threatened to leave the courtroom with him. Will pushed open the front doors of the courthouse and gulped at the fresh air with a desperation matched only by a caged animal fighting for its life. 

*** 

As Will rummaged through his kitchen cabinets looking for remaining coffee grounds the next morning, he felt a numbness settle over his body and take over his mind. Beverly’s case would be opened today, which meant that Will would be called to the stand to testify before too long. Will was especially nervous at the prospect of facing Beverly’s family again, almost certain that the sight of them would further fuel the fire that waited in the pit of his chest under all of the numbness. 

Will banged his fist on the counter in a display of agitation as no remaining coffee grounds were discovered. With a furrowed brow he set a kettle to boil and set a slightly dusty box of tea bags next to it. He crossed his arms and stared pointlessly at his kitchen tile floor as the kettle began to boil. As it whistled, he poured it into a travel mug and added a tea bag, screwing on the lid with a bit more force than was necessary. He grabbed his coat from the hall closet and pulled it on just as he heard Jack driving up to the house, setting the dogs into a frenzy. He locked up, greeted Jack tonelessly, and proceeded to sink further into the numbness on the ride to the courthouse. 

The courtroom was much fuller than it had ever been and it seemed as if the majority of the forensics team at the FBI as well as several trainees and other various agents had gathered to watch the proceedings. Several heads whipped around as Will entered the courtroom, and the expressions varied. Some offered him looks of pity, others demonstrated anger, and the rest adopted a minimally polite smile. 

Whereas Will had normally felt two contradictory pulls when it came to deciding on which side of the courtroom to sit, he felt no such tension today. Loyalty to Beverly was a strong enough factor to see him seated at Jack’s side behind the prosecution bench. Will could feel the grief that radiated from Beverly’s parents and younger sister further along the row Will was seated at and he did his best to not let it overwhelm him. He had to keep it together.  _ For Beverly, if nothing else. _

Angry whispers erupted across the courtroom as the side door banged open and Hannibal was led in. Dressed in a black three-piece suit with a maroon paisley tie, Hannibal seemed unphased by the intensity emanating from the crowd. Will refused to meet his eye, staring instead at the witness stand that he would soon occupy. He suddenly felt very hot and began to sweat, the shell of numbness cracking and giving way to anxiety. He pulled at his tie to loosen it some and rubbed his palms across his slacks to dry them. 

Judge Honesworth initiated the session and prosecutor Ms. Ramierez wasted no time and launched into Beverly’s story, eventually reaching the story of her ending and its connection to Will. 

“Ms. Katz was a smart woman, but even more so, she was a loyal one. At the time, her colleague and friend Will Graham was imprisoned under the now confirmed false accusations of being the Chesapeake Ripper. In an effort to discover the truth of the case against Mr. Graham, she agreed to investigate other possible explanations for the evidence in the Ripper cases. While we do not know what exactly Ms. Katz found that tied James Gray’s death to Hannibal Lecter specifically, something prompted her to turn her attention to Dr. Lecter. The day after she had enlisted Dr. Lecter’s help in a secondary autopsy of James Gray, she herself was displayed in a gruesome tableau orchestrated by Dr. Lecter himself. For her loyalty to her friend and to the truth, she was murdered and cannibalized by the accused. It’s imperative that the jury consider the case of Ms. Katz in deciding Dr. Lecter’s fate.” 

The sound of Ms. Ramierez’s footsteps as she made her way back to the prosecution bench was the only sound to be heard throughout the courtroom. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath and it was soon broken by the sound of Hannibal’s lawyer, Byron Metcalfe, making his way to the center of the courtroom to deliver the standard rebuttal- that Hannibal was afflicted by insanity, that his actions were done without sound mind, etc.,...  _ the usual bullshit _ . Will tuned out Mr. Metcalfe’s ramblings and instead found himself staring at the projected image of a smiling Beverly on the screen at the front of the courtroom. The longer he stared, the more Beverly’s eyes seemed to see directly into his soul, and he fought the urge to duck under the bench and hide from her gaze. 

“The prosecution now calls Mr. Will Graham to the stand,” Ms. Ramierez announced and Will’s heart sank. As if on command, sweat began to gather at his brow and his hands adopted a faint tremble. He shot a quick glance back at the projected image of Beverly and then his eyes met the gaze of Beverly’s younger sister. She too seemed to see right through him and, despite the eeriness of the feeling, he couldn’t help the wave of protectiveness that washed over him. Steeling himself, he stood and began to make his way to the witness stand. 

The whole courtroom followed him with their eyes as he made his way to the witness stand, took the oath, and then sat down. Will pushed his shoulders back and could only pray that he projected a more confident version of himself than he currently felt. Keeping a neutral expression- and against his better judgement- he risked a glance at Hannibal. 

Hannibal sat straight in his chair in a position that naturally exuded confidence. Will couldn’t help but be reminded of the many times he had watched Hannibal raptly, trying to mimic that confidence when he had first begun his attempt to “hook” Hannibal after his own release from the BSHCI. Hannibal’s hair was pristinely parted off to its usual side and his sharp cheekbones seemed to reflect the sunlight that shone through the large windows off to the side of the courtroom. Hannibal’s eyes met his and Will felt his blood run cold. He gripped the chair tightly, unsure of whether he wished it was Hannibal’s neck or hand that he was gripping. 

The click of Ms. Ramierez’s heels as she approached the stand snapped Will’s attention back to reality. He held his breath in anticipation of her first question. 

“Mr. Graham. You were friends with the victim, Ms. Katz, correct?” she began, peering at him intensely. 

“Friendship assumes reciprocity. I have sufficient doubt that Beverly Katz would have considered me a friend, given my… _ unsociable _ inclinations” Will replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in an unconscious desire to hide behind them as if they were a veil. 

“That may be true, but the two of you clearly had some connection. A connection you would later use to your advantage, no?” She raised her eyebrow questioningly and Will sighed, deciding he may as well be more forthcoming. 

“Beverly was kind to me. She was aware of my own  _ peculiarities  _ and yet she was steadfast in her loyalty to me. She asked after my wellbeing many times and made it clear that she would be there for me, should I need it. Eventually, I felt I did need it.” 

“You asked Ms. Katz to investigate Dr. Lecter, didn’t you?” Ms. Ramierez asked. Will glanced at Hannibal again but was quick to regret it. As his eyes locked with Hannibal’s, Will felt rage take over once again. He took a steadying breath and returned his attention back to the prosecutor. 

“While I was an inmate at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Beverly would come visit me and ask for my opinion on ongoing cases with which the FBI had difficulties. I asked one thing of her. I did not ask her to investigate Dr. Lecter specifically. I simply asked her to ignore the existing evidence against me and begin again, looking for any other evidence that would indicate that I had been framed or indicated that another individual was responsible for the murders of which I was accused. She found something.” Will sat back in his chair slightly, trying to ground himself before he became too visibly upset. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jack nodding approvingly and further down the row, Price was holding back tears and Zeller was shooting glares at Hannibal. Ms. Ramierez blocked his line of sight and stared imploringly at him. 

“And what was it that Ms. Katz found?” 

“She discovered that James Gray’s kidneys were missing, indicating that, since I was incarcerated at the time, I could not possibly be the Chesapeake Ripper since he was still active. What evidence she found that explicitly connected James Gray to Dr. Lecter, I’m not certain; she died before she was able to tell anyone.” 

“And yet you maintain that Dr. Lecter is responsible for her death. Why is that?” 

“Well outside of the official forensics report that will later be verified by the FBI team, the way she was displayed after death is consistent with the Chesapeake Ripper murders, of which Dr. Lecter is responsible.” 

“Objection! Hearsay,” Hannibal’s lawyer shouted as he stood with a pointed finger. Judge Honesworth frowned briefly but then turned to Will. 

“Sustained. Mr. Graham, given your personal relationship with the defendant, any forensic analysis on your part will be inadmissible. You are only allowed to report on facts of the case and anything that you personally witnessed. Ms. Ramierez, please continue.” Will rolled his eyes internally.  _ I fucking hate court _ . Ms. Ramierez turned back to Will. 

“Did Ms. Katz ever intimate to you any details regarding her suspicion of Dr. Lecter prior to her death?” 

“As I mentioned, the day that Beverly was murdered, she came to see me. She told me that she had performed a secondary autopsy on James Gray and had asked Dr. Lecter to assist, in an effort to gain any new insight on Gray’s murder, as well as whether or not Dr. Lecter was guilty. When she saw me, she told me that she had noticed that James Gray’s kidneys were missing. During that conversation, we came to the realization that the Chesapeake Ripper had killed James Gray and that Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper. I told Beverly to go to Jack Crawford and tell him everything, but she noted the lack of explicit connection of the missing kidneys to Dr. Lecter; she felt she needed more evidence first. I warned her that Hannibal knew and that he would be toying with her, and that she should go to Jack immediately regardless. Unfortunately, Beverly did not listen to me and went off on her own, looking for evidence, I assume. She was murdered that night and displayed for all to see by the next morning.” Will took a deep breath glanced up at the image of Beverly on the screen. The thought of her telling him to  _ suck it up, Will _ offered a temporary reprieve from the overwhelming guilt he felt over her death. 

Ms. Ramierez turned to the jury and filled in any missing gaps in his story and wove together a story that almost ensured Hannibal’s conviction on its own. In going over the details of the case, however, Will noticed that Ms. Ramierez did not mention the gunshot hole in Hannibal’s floorboard. If a ballistics team were to analyze the gunshot hole, they could perhaps provide further evidence that it was shot from Beverly’s gun, placing her in Hannibal’s basement at the time of her death.  _ They don’t know about the gunshot hole... _

“Before you are released from the stand, Mr. Graham, is there any other evidence or information that we should be aware of when it comes to the case of Beverly’s Katz’s murder at the hands of Dr. Lecter?”  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck.  _ Will exerted an enormous amount of self-control in order to keep himself from panicking.  _ The gunshot hole in Hannibal’s floorboards could very well be from Beverly’s gun… if that could be proven, Hannibal would be tied even more conclusively to Beverly’s murder. _ On the other hand, Will felt the familiar, albeit detested, pull of loyalty and protectiveness towards Hannibal. Part of him wanted to hide it, to do a small part in protecting Hannibal in one of the only ways left to him. His leg began to jostle restlessly as he debated internally. His gaze flickered to Hannibal and his heart clenched. He felt an almost instinctual pull to Hannibal’s side and he very nearly surrendered to it but a pair of dark brown eyes stopped him. 

Her eyes looked so much like Beverly’s that he almost cried out to her. It wasn’t Beverly, but her sister. Her eyes were widened in shock and were filled to the brim with tears for her lost sister. Her youthfulness naturally reminded Will of Abigail and he then felt an overwhelming desire to protect her as well, as if that could ever make up for Abigail. The wave of protectiveness was followed by renewed rage directed towards Hannibal. He glanced back to Hannibal, but he was gone. In his place, Beverly stood, one arm on her hip and the other hung loosely at her side. She said nothing and her face was carefully neutral, but Will could see an underlying hope in her eyes alongside the fire that characterized her personality. 

In that moment, Will chose her. He knew he did. He would tell them about the gunshot hole in Hannibal’s floor and do right by Beverly. 

“No,” Will answered, shaking his head slowly.

Shock at his own answer took over and Will could feel a headache begin to form with a vengeance. Ms. Ramierez nodded slowly before dismissing him from the witness stand. Hannibal’s defense team didn’t even have any questions for him, meaning Will’s part in Beverly’s case was over. He stood slowly and walked back to his seat as if in a trance. He had been so sure he had chosen Beverly’s side, so sure that he was about to actively pin more evidence against Hannibal in retribution for her death. But once again, his loyalty to Hannibal had won out, even against his own interest. He had lied under oath for him, and denied Beverly the last shred of justice he could offer. 

Will sank back into his seat and was only vaguely aware of Jack clapping him on the shoulder in solidarity. He couldn’t bring himself to glance again at Beverly’s picture and found his eyes instead drawn to studying Hannibal’s figure. There was no trace of guilt or remorse apparent on his face, nor was he smug or arrogant. Hannibal was simply neutral, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. Traitorous feelings rose once again in Will and he longed to envelop Hannibal in his arms and be held by him in return. 

The rest of the proceedings for the day were agonizingly slow. Just before the lunch break, Jimmy Price took the stand to describe the forensic details of how Beverly had been killed and how her death compared with that of other Ripper victims. He tearfully explained how she had been strangled, bled of all her blood, and was frozen prior to being cut into thin slices. Will listened and struggled to reconnect with the rage he had felt earlier. The numbness, or perhaps just apathy, was back and Will tried to appear normal by watching Jimmy’s testimony but was nonetheless relieved when the judge called a recess for lunch break. 

The recess found various members of the FBI gathered around a set of picnic tables in the park off to the side of the courthouse. Will was dragged over to this circle by Jack and Will immediately regretted not making more of a protest. Rage and sadness emanated from those gathered and Will’s empathy was soon overwhelmed to the point where he felt like he was suffocating. He began backing away and successfully dodged Jack’s gaze before making his way back to the courthouse. He walked past the courtroom and down an adjoining hall before he heard a faint voice murmuring soothingly. As he rounded the corner of the hall, he was greeted by the sight of Brian Zeller comforting Jimmy Price. Neither man noticed Will’s presence at the other end of the hall and despite Will knowing he should back away quietly, he couldn’t help but continue staring. 

Jimmy was crying softly and Brian was talking to him softly. As Jimmy brought up a hand to wipe at his eyes, his breath caught and his shoulders began to shake. Brian pulled Jimmy to his chest and wrapped one arm around his back and the other clasped Jimmy’s neck tightly. Jimmy leaned into the embrace and Will had a feeling that this was not something new for the two of them. Just as Will had this thought, Brian dipped his head and placed several soft kisses to Jimmy’s forehead. Will was suddenly overwhelmed with an image of Hannibal and himself in a similar position. Will felt himself longing to be held by Hannibal like Jimmy was being held by Brian. Will swallowed thickly and finally roused himself to back away from the pair and walk back towards the courtroom. He found a sufficiently isolated corner in a hallway near the courtroom that provided him with enough privacy to sit on the floor and draw his knees up to his chest and bury his head in his hands. 

Will was eventually shaken by Jack and returned with him to the courtroom. Beverly’s case continued to be discussed in incredible and agonizing detail. Brian Zeller also gave testimony, and although he didn’t show as much emotion as Jimmy had, his distress was still apparent. The earlier feelings of apathy had dissipated and Will felt as if he was now sitting in a tub slowly filling with guilt. It was as if someone had tied and weighed him down with cinder blocks, leaving him to agonize and simply wait for the guilt to drown him. 

He avoided looking at the image of Beverly as well as dodging the gaze of her sister. He likewise couldn’t bring himself to look at Hannibal, so he kept his eyes stubbornly downcast for the majority of the afternoon. 

After the judge ended the session, the prosecution was fairly certain that they had provided enough details of the case to solidify the jury’s belief that Hannibal was not insane, but rather a vindictive individual who acted out of his own interest. The ride back to his house was quiet and Will only nodded curtly at Jack before he was crunching through the snow towards his front door. 

Will was grateful he’d have the weekend to prepare himself for Monday, when Abigail’s case would be presented before the court. In the meantime, he planned to distract himself as best as he could without the use of alcohol. He rummaged through his barn before he finally found the old boat motor he had been looking for. He hefted it over his shoulder and carried it inside before depositing it in the middle of his living room. At least this was something he could fix. 

Will changed into some older work clothes and settled down next to the motor. He pushed away the dogs nosing at him and poured his entire attention into fixing the motor. He could feel the guilt of choosing Hannibal over Beverly quietly gnawing at the back of his head and he screwed his eyes shut, wishing to dispel it. He couldn’t stop thinking about Hannibal holding him the way he had seen Brian holding Jimmy. He longed to feel Hannibal’s hand at the back of his neck, steadying him. A tear or two escaped his eyes and he brushed them angrily before turning his attention even more decidedly to the motor in front of him. 


	13. Abigail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you lovely people for reading!!!! just a reminder that I am NOT a lawyer and don't pretend to know the inner workings of the American criminal justice system so just keep that in mind! 
> 
> I think this fic may end up being longer than I originally planned because it's just coming together so naturally and more of the story wanted to be told! 
> 
> and also- don't worry, we'll be seeing a lot more Hannibal dialogue eventually!

Will threw down the wrench in his hand and it skidded across the floor, scuffing up the wooden floorboards. He let out a frustrated sigh and turned away from the boat motor he had been working on. He stood up, stretched his limbs and glanced at his watch. He’d been at this for hours and he was no closer to repairing the motor than he had been after he’d gotten home from the courthouse yesterday afternoon. 

It was about ten in the morning and the sun shone brightly through the wide windows at the sides of his house. Winston lay basking in a particularly warm spot under one of the windows and Will couldn’t help but smile to himself as he made his way over to give Winston a good belly rub. 

Will looked out the window and across his property, taking in the sight of the sun slowly melting the ice that had built up overnight. As Will weighed the pros and cons of going to the stream at the back of the property in order to fish, his phone began to ring. He ignored it, per usual. However, the phone began ringing again not a full minute later so Will groaned as he searched for his phone. He found it buried under a book about the theoretical use of fruit flies to determine time of death that he’d been reading the night before. He frowned in confusion as he read  _ Jimmy Price _ on the caller ID. 

“Hello?” Will asked, the question apparent in his tone. 

“Hi Will! Listen, uh, I have something to ask you but I don’t think you’re quite going to like it, I mean really if I had the choice-”

“Just tell him, god!” came a second voice through the phone, which Will quickly deduced to be the voice of Brian Zeller. 

“Oh fine, alright,” Price said with reluctance. “Listen, Will. Ever since Beverly died, Z and I have been helping out her family…at first it was with simple funeral arrangements, then Z started cooking for them once in a while, and well, eventually it turned into more of a friendship with the family.” Price paused, as if waiting for Will to comment. Sensing a growing awkwardness, Will tried to remember how to be properly social. 

“Oh, um, that’s…nice,” he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable, especially as he heard Z whisper (quite loudly) that Price was freaking Will out and that Price should let Z do the talking, to which Price scoffed. There was a brief scuffling sound and Will had the feeling they were quite literally fighting over the phone. Then, the noise stopped just as abruptly. 

“What Jimmy has been trying, and failing, to say is that we are somewhat close to the Katz family and they want to host a dinner for the team, as a thank-you for defending her in court. We were told to invite you,” Z said. 

Will’s blood turned to ice and he had a sudden urge to vomit, as if he was trying to literally expel the guilt that had claimed his body. Will hadn’t been able to shut his eyes without seeing accusatory glances from Beverly and the thought of sitting down with her family after he had withheld evidence to protect her killer… it was too ugly a thought. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. I’ve got.... something-” he began, realizing they hadn’t told him when the dinner would be taking place. He cursed at himself internally. 

“Sorry, Will, I’m afraid there’s really no getting out of this one. They’re quite insistent. And Jack’s been invited too, and you know he’ll make you go. It’s tomorrow night. See you there, Will,” Z said brightly, unphased by Will’s pushback. 

“Bye, Will!” he heard Price shout into the phone and Will grimaced from the sheer volume of it before he hung up.  _ Fuck. _

A half hour later saw Will still staring out one of the windows, lamenting his fate. His phone buzzed again and the caller ID confirmed what Z had suggested- Jack was calling. 

“Jack.”

“Will! I’m under the impression you gave Z and Jimmy some pushback about coming to the Katz’ tomorrow night. But I’m afraid Z is right. You’re not getting out of this one. I’ll pick you up my damn self if I have to. But I’m hoping you’ll come of your own volition. We owe it to Beverly, we really do, Will. So. Do I have to haul your ass over or are you going to get over yourself and come over on your own?” Jack’s words had a bite to them that confirmed he truly was not messing around. Will sighed, anxiety sitting heavy in his chest. 

“Fine. I’ll come. You don’t need to come get me.” 

“You’re a good man, Will. See you tomorrow night at 7. I’ll text you the address.” Jack hung up, his tone considerably lighter than it had been when he’d first called. 

Will made a strong pot of coffee- he had finally given up instant coffee and replenished his store of actual coffee grounds- and took his steaming mug with him to sit on his porch. He sipped it while he watched his dogs bound through the snow, playing joyfully. Winston, however, remained sitting at Will’s feet, as if he could feel Will’s anxiety and wished to comfort him. Will was quietly grateful and ran his fingers through Winston’s coat to calm himself down. 

Will had returned from the courthouse the previous afternoon and poured all of his anger, resentment, and guilt into trying to repair an old motor that had little prospect of working again anyway. He hadn’t slept at all and was full of despair. He had been  _ so sure _ he was finally going to be loyal to someone other than Hannibal, that he could do this for Beverly. But the knowledge he had protected Hannibal so naturally haunted him. He was angry at Hannibal and he was angry with himself. His head ached from all of the energy he had spent trying to understand why he had betrayed Hannibal for Beverly. On some level, probably somewhere cave-like and dark and deep within him, he knew why he’d chosen Hannibal. But denial and ignorance were much more comfortable so Will remained in confusion, questioning his own actions and hating himself for it. 

He felt a strong desire to drive to the nearest liquor store and sink into oblivion. But he knew if he drank this time, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to stop. With that thought, he grabbed the wrench he’d discarded earlier and resumed his work on the motor with a stubborn insistence. 

Sunday evening came much too soon for Will’s liking. He stood before his bathroom mirror, avoiding his own eyes as he buttoned his dark green collared shirt. He smoothed back his hair and his eyes caught his own. Will thought his eyes looked dead. He’d always said that serial killers and psychopaths have dead eyes and he was dismayed but not surprised to find he looked the same right now. He swallowed nervously, as if trying to choke down his problematic feelings too. 

Beverly’s parents lived in Alexandria, Virginia and their house was about half an hour from Will’s. The drive was quiet yet Will kept anxiously scanning the streets, looking for an issue, as he tried to distract himself from his own mounting anxiety. 

Before long, Will pulled up to a modest yet attractive two-story white house with a large yard. It reminded Will of something he would buy if he were ever to have kids; he could imagine the house being quite adequate for a family. However, as quick as the thought came, it vanished. Will could never have a family house- he would never have a family.  _ Will Graham, Ruiner of Families _ , he couldn’t help but think. He’d destroyed the Katz family and he knew the concept of family was something he could never connect with, for the good of everyone. 

He parked behind Jack’s car, put on his glasses, and stepped out of the car, only to step into the bright light of headlights. He squinted and quickly moved out of the way as Z pulled up beside him. Jimmy hopped out of the passenger seat and walked up to Will. 

“Hey, Will. Glad you made it. Jack was already planning your murder in case you didn’t show,” Jimmy said, smiling at him. Will made an effort to smile back but he knew the smile couldn’t possibly reach his eyes. 

“Hello, Will,” Z said as he stepped out of the car. He gave a tight-lipped smile and Will didn’t need his empathy to tell him that Z was still quite wary of Will and unconvinced of his innocence.  _ Fair enough _ . 

“Let’s head in, yeah?” Z said as Jimmy walked back towards him. Z slipped an arm around his waist and guided them both inside and Will walked a couple feet behind them, wishing the dimness of the late evening would simply absorb him. 

Z knocked on the front door of the house and it opened a split second later to show Beverly’s mom, who gave a small smile as she pointed them inside. As he passed her, Will gave her the flowers he’d picked up from the store on the way in. She smiled a bit wider at that and turned to the kitchen in search of a vase. 

As Will shed his coat, a large hand clapped him on the shoulder.  _ Jack.  _

“Hey, Jack” Will said, willing himself to appear normal but failing miserably as his tone fell flat. 

“Hey, Will. Glad you could make it,” Jack said and Will could feel the beginnings of a lecture coming but was saved as Mr. Katz walked into the room and greeted them all. 

“Thank you so much, all of you, for making your way out here. My wife and I and our daughter really appreciate it. Beverly was so proud to work with all of you that we thought it would be most appropriate to thank you in person and offer you what we could- which tonight is a home-cooked meal. We’re aware of how rare it is to have home-cooked meals with jobs like yours.”  _ Unless you’re Hannibal, or dine regularly with him. He’d always insist on cooking for me as often as possible.  _ He couldn’t help the wave of sadness that engulfed him as he remembered the intense-  _ and intimate _ \- meals they’d shared together. 

“This is my daughter, Caroline,” said Mr. Katz as Caroline walked into the room. She offered a shy smile to Will and Jack but enveloped Jimmy and Z in a hug.  _ They definitely have become close _ . 

Mrs. Katz ushered the four of them into the dining room and Will was seated next to Jack on one side of the table and across from Caroline, who was next to Jimmy and Z. Mr. and Mrs. Katz were to sit at opposite ends of the table. It was a small gathering and Will tried his hardest not to panic. As he shifted nervously in his chair, Mrs. Katz leaned over him to place the bright orange flowers he had brought in the middle of the table in a vase. 

“Marigolds. The flower for October, which was, of course, Beverly’s birth month. Did you know?” she asked Will, an appreciative smile on her face. He pushed the glasses up on his nose. 

“Marigolds are known for representing passion and a desire to be successful. I felt that the association fit Beverly well. Incidentally, I did not know she was born in October and was already associated with it.”

“Ah. Well now I am even more convinced it was her spirit who guided you to them. Thank you, Will. This was special.” Mrs. Katz patted his shoulder affectionately and sat next to him at the end of the table. 

The table talked amicably while Mr. Katz was adding finishing touches to dinner. Jimmy and Jack dominated the conversation and Will was thankful they didn’t go out of their way to pull him in. His eyes kept glancing back to the marigolds in their crystal vase and felt the guilt in his chest was deserved. 

Before too long, Mr. Katz served caesar salad on delicate white plates with little blue flowers. Will gratefully began eating with the rest of the table and listened to Jack recall some of his earliest memories of Beverly. 

“She certainly was never shy to put even me in my place. I remember during one of the first cases I had assigned her to, she called me out in front of several of the agents and told me I was holding my gun wrong! She was, naturally, correct, but I remember being furious with her. She didn’t even blink when I had it out with her, just asked if her tip in how to hold it had helped. That’s when I decided I liked her. She always said what she thought and she was so brave.” Jack smiled a little sadly at that and Jimmy wiped the tears gathered in the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, dinner came around and Will was relieved to see it was something he was very familiar with. Mr. Katz had prepared rainbow trout with a toasted oat and almond crust, complete with lavender honey and rhubarb. Served alongside it was roasted broccoli and grits, altogether making the meal a very traditional Virginian home-cooked meal. As Will cut into the trout, a sudden image of Hannibal smiling at him flashed behind his eyes and he could hear him, as if were sitting at the table next to him. 

_ “I find the trout to be a very Nietzschean fish.  _ _ Trials of his wild existence find its way into the flavor of the flesh.”  _ __

Will closed his eyes just briefly as he bit into the trout, wishing that his longing to dine with Hannibal once again would dissipate. He forced himself instead to open his eyes and focus on the family in front of him, as if he could make up for the way he had betrayed Beverly. 

“Caroline wants to work at the FBI someday, too,” Mrs. Katz was saying. “What happened to Beverly has lit a fire in her, and she’s determined to follow in her sister’s footsteps. And also to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to others.” Caroline was nodding and Jack cast her an interested glance. 

“You let me know when you’re done with college if you want in,” Jack said, pointing his fork at her while he spoke. “We would do well with more people like you.” Caroline smiled at that and she cast a nervous look to Will. 

“Well, to be more specific, I’m actually interested in entomology,” Caroline said while trying to make eye contact with him. That caught Will’s attention and he brought his eyes up to hers, which she took as a sign to continue. 

“I’ve read your monograph, about determining time of death by insect activity. Bev told me about it. She and I always liked bugs. Used to drive Mom and Dad crazy.” Will offered her a small, genuine smile. 

“My father used to berate me for the little insect gardens I had kept as a kid. They’ve always fascinated me too,” Will offered and Caroline smiled more openly at that and her expression was so youthful and innocent that Will was reminded of Abigail. 

“I knew a girl, around your age. Her name was Abigail. I was a guardian of sorts to her. I had planned on teaching her how to fish, and of teaching her all about the insects associated with Virginia's streams and lakes. She would’ve liked to learn it all, I think. You’re as curious as she was,” Will said softly, looking at the table. He heard Jack sigh quietly and Mrs. Katz reached over and grabbed his hand, causing him to flinch. 

“I’m sorry,” she said as she withdrew her hand quickly. “But I’ve heard about your Abigail. I’m sorry that happened to you, that you had to watch that. Her case begins tomorrow, no?” Will nodded and suddenly felt quite sick. He’d promised himself, and the version of Abigail that resided in his memory palace, that he wouldn’t defect to Hannibal’s side, not this time. But he already had with Beverly. 

The rest of the meal continued without another mention of Abigail but instead was filled with fond memories of Beverly. Hot apple pie with ice cream was served as dessert and then Mr. and Mrs. Katz began cleaning up, ushering the four of them to the living room for coffee and presumably more conversation. Sensing his chance, Will made his apologies but insisted he had to leave, citing Abigail’s case and his inevitable testimony as reason enough to head home and get to bed early. The Katzes nodded politely before walking him to the door. 

“Oh, wait, Will, one last thing before you leave,” said Mrs. Katz and she walked to a nearby room before returning with a photograph in her hand and handed it to him. 

It was a photograph of Beverly, Z, Jimmy and Will. It had been taken at a July 4th barbeque celebration that the FBI had hosted and that Will had been forced into attending by Beverly when he had first started consulting on cases. Before the encephalitis, when Hannibal was just Hannibal and not the Chesapeake Ripper. Will smiled tightly as he looked at Beverly smiling up at him. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly and made his way out of the house and to his car. He shoved the picture in his jacket pocket and began the drive home. 

Once home, Will quickly showered and collapsed in bed, absolutely exhausted by the strain socializing had put on him. As he lay in bed, he examined the photograph further under the lamplight. Beverly truly did look stunning in the picture. Her smile was genuine and wide, and her hair blew in the wind behind her. She held Jimmy tight beside her, who was also being held tightly by Z. Will wondered absentmindedly if they had already been dating then before deciding that they had not. He assumed it happened after the loss of Beverly and that it had caused them to see that they should live life as if each moment could be their last. 

Will stood on the other side of Beverly, relatively relaxed under her touch. He wore a small smile that looked… genuine. Will looked at the photo more closely in confusion, as he was normally much more awkward in pictures. As he ran his hand over his own smile in the photo, he suddenly remembered who had been taking the photo in the first place. 

_ “Will! Come get in on this picture!” Beverly shouted as she pulled Z and Jimmy in front of the kitschy July 4th decorations. Will groaned, shaking his head. Hannibal appeared at Will’s elbow, smiling softly.  _

_ “Not fond of photographs, or is it the garish display of nationalism that stays your hand?” Hannibal asked. Will scoffed.  _

_ “Regarding the abundance of nationalism, suffice it to say that a lion doesn’t have to wave around evidence of its teeth for prey to know the danger it poses. As for the photographs- I would say I am not particularly fond.” _

_ “Most individuals detest seeing themselves in photographs because it shows the individual how the rest of the world sees them, rather than the image one sees in a mirror, which is actually a reflected image and thus not reality. Most individuals don’t enjoy having their reality tested. How do you think the image you see of yourself in a mirror differs from the image you project to the rest of the world, Will?” Will frowned and was just about to open his mouth to answer when Beverly grabbed his arm and dragged him over to Jimmy and Z.  _

_ “Would you mind taking the picture, Dr. Lecter?” she asked and Hannibal’s eyes shone as he shot a glance at Will. Will rolled his eyes as Hannibal took Beverly’s phone. Hannibal held up the phone to take the picture and Beverly pulled Will close to her side.  _

_ “Say ‘nationalism!’” Hannibal said, which Will couldn’t help but crack a smile at as he met Hannibal’s eyes over the phone as he took the picture.  _

Upon remembering this detail, Will examined his face closer and could see that his eyes weren’t actually fixed on the camera, they were fixed on something above the camera, which would have been Hannibal’s face. This was a photo of Will smiling at Hannibal. Will couldn’t help but notice how happy he looked in the picture and the authenticity of the small smile he wore. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to deny the implications of what this might mean regarding his feelings about Hannibal and laid the photo on a book on his nightstand before turning off the lamp and slipping into an almost-peaceful sleep. 

  
  


***

The respite that his sleep had offered him was torturously brief. He woke at three in the morning and immediately was full of a sense of impending doom. His eyes shot to the clock, and realizing the date, his heart sank. Today was the beginning of Abigail’s case. Knowing that sleep must be sacrificed at this point, Will threw the covers of himself and began to pace the room nervously. His dogs stared up at him in sleepy confusion and annoyance. Winston tried multiple times to paw at Will in an effort to calm him down, but nothing seemed to work on Will. Not this morning. 

He kept glancing back to the picture on his nightstand, debating whether or not he should burn it. He longed to destroy it, as it would destroy the evidence of how genuinely happy he was around Hannibal. But everytime he tried to bring a flame close to the photograph, his heart grabbed and forced him to stay his hand. 

When he wasn’t obsessing over the photograph, he was trying to reign in his rage and anxiety. He spent a fitful hour or two imagining destroying Hannibal with his bare hands-  _ fingernails ripping apart flesh, teeth creating streams of red in Hannibal’s skin, and feeling Hannibal’s life slip away while under his grasp- _ but he was even more focused on the images of Abigail’s death playing over and over behind his eyelids. Her helpless gasps and the warmth of her blood on his hands. He felt as if he had killed her too.  _ I did kill her. If only I had gone with him, no one would have had to die… _

The guilt wreaked havoc on his body and he was sweating, shaking with chills, and eventually found himself vomiting in the bathroom. After a particularly nasty bout of sickness, he leaned back on the bathroom wall and tried to catch his breath. He pulled at his hair nervously and shed a couple of tears as the image of he and Abigail fishing resurfaced from the depths of his mind. The image brought him some peace and he slowly came back to himself. 

How long he sat on that bathroom floor, he wasn’t entirely sure, but was roused back to reality when his dogs began barking. He pulled himself to his feet and walked out of the bathroom to let them run outside. It was nearing sunrise so Will went through the motions of preparing for court. Today he dressed up slightly more than usual since he would be testifying. He needed the jury to be on Abigail’s side, which meant he had to hold it together.  _ For Abigail _ . 

He wore a navy blue suit with a light blue collared shirt underneath. He paired it with a navy tie and pointed oxford shoes. He fixed his hair to something presentable and while looking in the mirror, he steeled himself for the case coming for him. He heard Jack knocking at the door so he went out to meet him, purposefully leaving his glasses behind. He couldn’t hide, not today. He didn’t want to. 

When Will walked into the courtroom, he was relieved to find that the crowd was considerably smaller. Beverly’s case had drawn in so many people from the FBI and the public due to her status, but compared to her, Abigail was a nobody in the public eye. News about her father had long since lost its marketability, yet Will caught sight of Freddie in the back of the courtroom. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve even said she looked mournful. 

He took a seat next to Jack on the front row of the prosecution’s side. Z and Jimmy sat next to him and offered their sympathies and wishes of luck, but Will couldn’t hear them. He was too busy staring at the picture of Abigail that Ms. Ramierez had already projected onto the screen. Abigail’s smiling face stared back at him and Will was initially comforted but then enraged as he remembered where he was and why. By the time the jury had shuffled in, Will’s face was decidedly murderous and fixed upon the door through which Hannibal was bound to walk through any minute. 

The door in question swung open and Hannibal was led inside. He immediately locked eyes with Will and Will’s expression didn’t falter; he was glaring daggers at Hannibal and yet Hannibal took it in stride. He kept his eyes focused on Will but his expression remained carefully blank and he sat at his place on the defendant’s bench with little concern for the man who appeared ready to kill him on the other side of the courtroom. 

Jack must’ve noticed and provided a quick jab with his elbow to Will’s side. Will finally realized his name had been called several times and the eyes of the courtroom were on him. He had been so far into his rage he hadn’t noticed the minutes go by and the proceedings continue around him. He cleared his throat awkwardly but the rage provided him with enough confidence to walk to the witness stand and swear the oath without any faltering. He took his seat and Ms. Ramierez began to question him. 

Her line of questioning was exhaustive. They established how Will was first introduced to Abigail and Will begrudgingly admitted Hannibal had saved her life then. They fortunately didn’t spend too much time when it came to his own implication in Abigail’s fake murder attempt, but did emphasize how he was unaware that Abigail was still alive and was under the assumption Hannibal had already killed her. Then, Ms. Ramierez broached the subject of the night in question. 

“What were you doing at Dr. Lecter’s house that evening in the first place?” 

“I was taking part in a covert operation to capture Dr. Lecter and hold him accountable for the numerous murders he had committed,” Will couldn’t help the bite that accompanied the words, but the defense was quick to pick up on it. 

“Objection! Improper characterization of the defendant,” Mr. Metcalfe said. Will tried incredibly hard not to roll his eyes. 

“Sustained. Mr. Graham, you’d do well to remember Dr. Lecter, in this moment, has not been convicted of these crimes and therefore your use of the phrase ‘numerous murders he had committed’ is unsubstantiated. Be more mindful of that as you proceed.” Judge Honesworth nodded to Ms. Ramierez and she looked at Will pointedly as if reminding him to behave himself. 

“As I understand it, this covert operation was actually considered entrapment and a warrant was issued for your arrest. Is that correct Mr. Graham?” Ms. Ramierez asked. 

“The charges were withdrawn,” Will said with impatience. Ms. Ramierez gave him another pointed stare and Will tried to remind himself she was only asking him these questions to get them out of the way before the defense attacked him for it. 

“So, you and Jack Crawford plan to meet Dr. Lecter for dinner. Only Mr. Crawford had arrived separately before you and so you came by yourself. Please tell the court what happened next Mr. Graham.” 

“I arrived at Dr. Lecter’s house. It was raining, so I didn't immediately see the body on the ground in front of the house door but when I did, I ran over and saw Dr. Bloom, covered in glass shards and bleeding. I called 9-1-1 and requested medical assistance. She tells me to go ahead inside, that Jack is still in there. I get out my gun and walk inside, but it’s quiet. I walked into the kitchen and saw no one, just blood pouring from the pantry, which I later found out was Jack. I heard something behind me and I turned and saw Abigail, standing there in perfect health. I was shocked. It completely shook me and it felt as if time had come to a standstill. She was crying at this point and I asked her where Hannibal was, and she indicates he’s behind me. I turn to see him, and he’s… upset. Next thing I know, he’s stabbing me in the abdomen. He tells me he had wanted us to run away together- he, Abigail, and I. I dropped to the floor and he told me he’d let me see him, know him. He felt betrayed by me. And so to punish me, he killed Abigail right in front of me. He knew I loved her, and wanted to protect her. But he wanted me to hurt, so he killed her. Slit her throat and dropped her to the floor,” Will talked with a controlled fierceness in his voice but tears are still gathering in his eyes. “Then he walked out and left us to die.” Will can’t help but glance at Hannibal but for once Hannibal isn’t looking at him. He’s focused on the wood of the desk in front of him and Will longs to kill him for deciding that now is the time to be polite and look remorseful. 

Ms. Ramierez nodded sympathetically before turning to Mr. Metcalfe. 

“Your witness,” she says to him. Mr. Metcalfe smooths his exorbitantly priced suit and stands up, eyes set on Will. 

“Mr. Graham. Telephone records from that night indicate you placed a call from your cell phone to Dr. Lecter shortly before the events of the night unfolded. What did you say?” Will taps his fingers on the podium in front of him, reluctant to explain his answer. 

“I told him ‘they know.’ I warned him that the FBI was coming for him.” Mr. Metcalfe nods and walks closer towards Will, his eyes narrowed. 

“And why did you do that?”

“Because… he was my friend.” This time when Will glances at Hannibal, his eyes are back to being locked on Will and it causes the breath to catch in his throat. 

“Your friend? Is that why you failed to draw the gun you said you had and take him down when it was just you, he, and Abigail in the kitchen? Were you his friend or were you an agent working to take him down?” Will can hear the faint buildup of panic in his ears. 

“I cared for him. I can’t deny that. In regards to the question of why I didn’t take him down- I was sufficiently shocked when I saw Abigail and even more so when I saw the hurt in his eyes, given I thought he’d been incapable of that depth of hurt. I couldn’t see he was armed. And by the time he got to Abigail, I was already bleeding out myself and couldn’t discharge my weapon.” 

“My client tells me, Mr.Graham, you had ample time to discharge a weapon if you had wished. He claims you stood in front of him for several moments and even allowed him to cup your face with his hand before he stabbed you. What I want to know is why you’d allow such an intimate gesture from someone you were trying to take down. Were you and Dr. Lecter physically involved?” Will’s face immediately turns pink at the insinuation but is still angry enough to scoff. 

“No.” 

“Were the two of you romantically involved, even if it wasn’t physical?” As much as Will is taken aback by the question, he still noticed Hannibal cock his head in interest. 

“No.” 

“Had Dr. Lecter ever held your face like that before?” 

“No.”

“Then why did you allow him such contact, instead of placing him under arrest?” 

“I-I-...,” Will swallowed nervously and could hear his blood pounding in his ears. 

“I’ll remind you that you’re under oath to answer truthfully, Mr. Graham.” But Will couldn’t offer a response. He searched desperately within himself yet avoided the darkest recesses of his mind. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Ah, I see. No further questions, your Honor.” Mr. Metcalfe said, looking triumphant as he stalked back to the defense bench. Will, who had been staring intently at his shoes, raised his head to look at Hannibal. All he could see when he met his eyes were images of that night, of how hurt Hannibal had been. Will could have sworn he saw a few tears from Hannibal that night. If he wasn’t mistaken, his face looked ever so slightly more open as he gazed at Will now. It was… almost sad, insofar as Hannibal could feel sad. Will felt an inexplicable desire to touch his face, feel his warmth. 

But those traitorous feelings seemed to disappear after Will glanced back at Abigail’s picture. Her slaughter flitted through his mind. He steeled his expression and forced himself to look away from Hannibal as he walked back to his seat. 

After questioning both Jack and Alana about that night, the lawyers made their final arguments to the jury. Ms. Ramierez emphasized the point that Hannibal had attempted to kill several close friends and an ex lover that night not on impulse, but that the murder was clearly premeditated. She cited Will’s testimony regarding his dinner with Hannibal the night before Abigail’s murder as evidence that Hannibal had some clue that the FBI was closing in on him and yet decided to stay even if it meant killing his friends. She also cited Will’s phone call as further evidence that Hannibal had been given several chances to walk away and yet decided not to. She aimed to characterize Hannibal as methodical, logical, and cruel, but still technically sane. Hannibal’s lawyer characterized the injuries and murder as impuslive acts and argued that they were more characteristic of someone who was insane. He also called out Will’s testimony and threw doubt on Will’s motives. He hinted at their friendship and implied intimacy; in doing so, he aimed to characterize Will’s testimony as untrustworthy. 

Will could feel the shifting in the jury’s thinking. Many had initially sympathized with Will but he could almost feel their eyes on him, trying to figure out if he was some co-conspirator with Hannibal. If they were secret lovers. The pounding in Will’s head grew and he wanted to punch something.  _ This was supposed to be for Abigail. Just let her rest in peace. _

Judge Honesworth adjourned the court for that day at five in the afternoon. Will rode home in silence, barely managing a “thanks” to Jack when he dropped him off. Will walked towards his front door as if in a trance. He opened his front door and after closing it behind him, he turned to the living room to greet his dogs but stopped dead in his tracks. Abigail was standing by the fireplace, petting Winston as he sat happily beside her.

“Abigail,” Will said. It was all he could manage to say. 

“I know, Will,” she said, smiling sadly. He shuffled his feet before looking at her again, affection rising in him. 

“I couldn’t save you. I let you down. I just wanted to get justice for you, but with Metcalfe questioning my reliability, I don’t know that the murder charge will even stick…” Abigail shook her head. 

“It doesn’t matter, Will. What’s done is done.” But Will couldn’t accept that, couldn’t fathom the idea that he would fail in holding Hannibal accountable for Abigail’s blood. 

“I promise you, Abigail, somehow, I will make him pay for what he did to you. I’ll kill him myself if I have to.” Abigail looked at him with shock but could see the rage in his eyes, the righteousness that propped up his shoulders as he contemplated getting justice for her. She just nodded softly and offered a small smile and then she was gone. 

And he was alone. As he lay in bed that night, he stared at his ceiling and imagined slitting Hannibal’s throat, just as he had done to Abigail. 

_ Will stood behind Hannibal, and held Hannibal tight to his chest. He wrapped an arm around the front of him, and brought up his right hand, which held a gleaming knife, to Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal was pliable in his arms, as if he were content to die at Will’s hand. Will clung on to him and quickly sliced Hannibal’s throat. Blood sprayed from his throat and coated the walls and floors in arterial spray. His warm blood soaked Will’s hands and Will tried to catch his breath as he let Hannibal’s body drop to the ground. He felt euphoric, as if he had carried out God’s wrath in righteous anger. Will looked down at Hannibal’s unseeing eyes and felt...just.  _

The thought brought some comfort. 


	14. The Defense

The days following Will’s testimony in Abigail’s case seemed to drag on and Will spent most days in court mentally fishing. The review of the murder charges was coming to a close, which meant there were only a few testimonies and character witnesses before the closing arguments would be made. Will was confident that Hannibal would be found guilty but excused for insanity and shipped off to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. A world in which Hannibal didn’t get away with his life was inconceivable for Will. He didn’t necessarily believe in luck, but if he did, he’d attest that Hannibal was the luckiest son of a bitch he’d ever met. 

It was a Thursday afternoon and the court had just reconvened following lunch. Will sat with Z and Jimmy, knowing that they were familiar enough with Will’s peculiarities to leave him alone, for the most part. The two of them were currently engaged in a passionate debate regarding the best methods to save the bee population of the Northeast U.S. when the judge gaveled down the noise of the courtroom. Will couldn’t help but notice that despite the intensity of their battle, Jimmy and Z slid right back into a companionable couple with ease, their hands intertwined. An unexpected image of his hand intertwined with Hannibal’s appeared in his mind and he vigorously shook the thought out of his head before he tuned back into the proceedings, which was now switching to the final murder charge- that of Mason Verger. 

As Will heard the name called out, he couldn’t help but shoot a glance over to Alana and Margot. Margot held her head high and didn’t cower from all of the glances shot her way at mention of the Verger name. As his gaze shifted to Alana, he expected to find some sign of unease. However, he was surprised by the cold mask she wore, betraying nothing.  _ No sign of guilt or remorse… what pathology are you hiding, Alana? _

Z and Jimmy were called upon to discuss the physical evidence of the case, just as they had been with each case thus far. However, this case was surprisingly short of evidence, there being nothing but a few of Hannibal’s hairs found on Mason’s jacket.  _ Ah, clever. Alana must’ve taken some and staged it.  _

“The prosecution calls their first, and only, witness, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, to the stand.” Murmurs broke out across the courtroom and Will tried his best to hide his own surprise. Hannibal hadn’t bothered to testify thus far and Will couldn’t help but wonder why he would now. 

Hannibal stood from his chair at the defense bench and smoothed the blue and gray plaid suit he wore that on anyone else would look terrible yet suited him perfectly. He walked to the witness stand with an air of elegance that both charmed and annoyed Will to no end. Scowling, Will meant to turn away but couldn’t tear his eyes from Hannibal’s eyes, which bore into him with such an intensity that Will could feel simultaneous heat in his belly and a chill on his arms. 

Ms. Ramierez walked towards Hannibal without the slightest sign of fear and Hannibal tilted his head towards her politely waiting for her to begin. Though Hannibal was sitting behind a wooden barrier, Will would’ve bet his house that Hannibal was sitting with his legs crossed and hands clasped over his knee, just as he had done so many times in their sessions together. 

“Dr. Lecter, I’m sure you have no desire to waste time and neither do I, so I’ll just cut straight to it. Did you murder Mason Verger?” Hannibal smiled and cleared his throat before leaning forward slightly to talk into the microphone. 

“You are correct in noting that I have no desire to waste time, for God grants so little of it to us. I will “cut straight to it” as you say, and admit that, yes, I did murder Mason Verger.” Hannibal offers another small smile to the prosecutor at the end and Will can’t help but smirk, the old sense of comradery he had felt with Hannibal rising to the surface. 

“That’s exactly what you claimed when you wrote a very detailed letter bragging about Mr. Verger’s murder at the beginning of your incarceration, and why this charge is even being applied to you in the first case. But the thing is, Dr. Lecter, I don’t know that I quite believe you. Why did you kill him?” 

“There were a great many reasons I had to end Mr. Verger’s life, his repeated abuse of children being one of them. However, I must say that my primary reason was because he was rude,” Hannibal says with unwavering confidence. Will hides a smile and notices that the jury looks appalled. 

“Ah yes, rudeness, the primary, perhaps trademark, motivator for all of your murders. But you know what element of your trademark isn’t present in Mr. Verger’s case?” Ms. Ramierez asked, slowly pacing in front of the witness stand with her hands behind her back. Hannibal appears unphased, perhaps even slightly amused. 

“I must say I do not but I have every assurance that you are about to tell me,” Hannibal smartly replies. 

“The organs. None of Mr. Verger’s organs were removed. No mutilation of the body. Just evidence of drowning. This murder doesn’t fit your pattern, Dr. Lecter. You did not cannibalize this man. Why didn’t you cannibalize him?” 

“I assure you, Ms. Ramierez, I had every intention of eating Mr. Verger. I would have been delighted to. However, the reason why I did not is rather simple. I was tending to the safety of Will Graham. I removed him from danger and took him back to his house. It was there that I turned myself in. I did not have time to return to Mr. Verger to remove his organs. But I wanted to make sure I took credit for my work, of course. I gladly count Mason among the rather extensive list of those that I have slaughtered,” Hannibal finishes with a polite glance at Ms. Ramierez, who narrows her eyes but Will can feel her beginning to buy the lie. 

“No further questions, your honor,” she says to the judge as she heads back to her seat. Hannibal catches Will’s eye and winks at him, making Will blush slightly, before he is returned to his seat as well. Ms. Ramierez shuffles around some notes and the judge asks her if she wants to call forward any other witnesses. 

“I call forward Mr. Will Graham to the witness stand,” she responds. Will internally groans as he rises and makes his way to the stand. He’d known she would probably call him but had been secretly hoping she’d just drop it and move on. Will sat behind the witness stand and fiddled with his fingers to avoid making eye contact with the prosecutor. She approached him nonetheless and he reluctantly raised his gaze to meet hers. 

“Mr. Graham, you were there the night Dr. Lecter allegedly killed Mason Verger, yes?” 

“Yes,” he replied tonelessly. 

“Did you see Dr. Lecter murder Mr.Verger?” 

“No.” 

“Did you see anyone else murder Mr. Verger?” 

“No.” 

“Are you in any way aware of who else might have murdered Mr. Verger than Dr. Lecter?” Will hesitated at that, stopping his gaze from flickering to Margot and Alana. For just a fraction of a second, Will imagined ratting Alana out, of making her pay penance for not believing in him all those years ago. But just as quickly as the thought came, it was gone. 

“No.” 

“Do you find it plausible that Dr. Lecter murdered Mr. Verger that night?” Will sighed.  _ You fucking owe me, Alana. _

“Yes. But, as I stated in the formal case file, I was drugged and do not remember anything from that night. I can’t offer anything else.” The prosecutor nodded and Will was soon released back to his chair. Having found nothing contradictory, Ms. Ramierez concluded the Verger case by arguing that Hannibal should be found guilty on this count as well. Margot’s shoulders seemed to relax and Alana’s brow unfurrowed. 

“This concludes the review of each murder charage. The court will now hear any other charges levied against Dr. Lecter. I have only one other charge to add, is that still correct, Ms. Rameriez?” the judge asked. 

“Yes, your honor,” she replied. 

“Very well then. The jury will note that we are now reviewing the final charge against Dr. Lecter- that of the kidnapping of Miriam Lass. Ms. Ramierez, you may call your first witness.” 

“The prosecution calls Ms. Miriam Lass to the witness stand,” Ms. Ramierez stated, walking towards the witness stand once again. 

Will turned his head to see Miriam walking down the aisle. He hadn’t even noticed she was here. Other than a slightly nervous expression, she held her head high as she made her way to the stand. 

“Ms. Lass, would you tell the court about your experience with Dr. Lecter?” Miriam nodded and launched into her story. Will watched as the faces of the jury shifted from horror to anger and back again, as volatile as mercury. When she had reached the end of her explanation. Ms. Rameriez posed another question. 

“Ms. Lass, how do you know Dr. Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper?” Miriam explained how it was the drawing of  _ Wound Man _ that she had found in Hannibal’s office and how she had been attacked by him as a direct result of that. 

“But the record states that you previously identified Dr. Frederick Chilton as the Chesapeake Ripper. So, which is it?” Frederick visibly squirms in his seat but straightens his tie in an attempt to appear nonchalant. 

“I was hypnotized and manipulated by Dr. Lecter into believing that he had been Dr. Chilton. However, over the past couple of years, I was able to recover my memories. I am positive that it was Dr. Lecter that kidnapped me, cut off my arm, and left me in a hole in the ground for two years. He is the Chesapeake Ripper.” Miriam had angry tears in her eyes but the courtroom was silent following her outright confirmation. Will could feel the jury’s hatred for Hannibal grow and he tried to remain steady against such an onslaught of emotion. 

Miriam was soon dismissed from the stand and she walked out of the courtroom with haste to put it all behind her. 

“The review of the charges against Dr. Lecter has come to its conclusion. Tomorrow, the defense will present their main argument. That is all,” the judge announced before adjourning for the day. 

Will was so deeply engrossed in writing up a research paper for his PhD, hunched over his computer with concentration, that he didn’t hear the knock on his door the first time. However, a room full of barking dogs made Will snap his head up in time to hear the second set of knocks. Confused as to why anyone would be calling on him at 8 in the evening, he padded curiously to the door and opened it to find Margot and Alana staring at him. An awkward moment passed before Will sighed internally and stepped back, motioning to his living room without a word. 

The two women sat on the two chairs by the fire and Will sat on the piano bench near them, quite curious as to what they would say. 

“I know you are surprised to find us here Will, but we wanted to say this in person,” Alana begins, her face softening to resemble something closer to the Alana that Will used to know. 

“Alana and I wanted to thank you, for protecting us. Not letting the court know that it was us that killed Mason. We are indebted to you, Will,” Margot said with heartfelt sincerity. 

“It was the least I could do. Mason deserved to die. You don’t deserve to go down for it,” Will said. A thought suddenly occurred to Will. 

“You say you’re indebted to me. Alana, I have no doubts you’ll be able to secure Hannibal’s insanity defense. I just have, uh, one thing to ask.” Alana narrows her eyes but nods, prompting Will to go on. 

“See to it that he’s comfortable at the Baltimore State Hospital. Make sure he can have his drawings, and books too. Don’t let them deprive him of his dignity. That’s all I ask.” Will said softly, surprising even himself by the sudden request. Alana stares at him for a couple seconds but begins to slowly nod. 

“Dr. Chilton and I have been working extremely hard together on Hannibal’s defense for the past couple of months. We’re close friends now. I should be able to secure that arrangement with him. For your sake, not Hannibal’s,” she adds as a qualifier. Will nods gratefully and the two women rise and make their way to his door. 

“Oh, and Alana? Do you think Hannibal will win his insanity plea?” Will couldn’t resist asking. He couldn’t even admit to himself that despite his confidence that Hannibal would win the plea, he had a small corner of his mind quite concerned that Hannibal wouldn’t. She glanced back at him and smiled. 

“Like I said Will, Frederick and I have worked tirelessly on this. We’ve poured all we had into this.We’ve got this, Will. See you tomorrow,” she said before pushing open his front door and stepping outside into the chilly evening air. Margot smiled at him too before she followed her outside, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

***

January always brought relentless snowstorms to Wolftrap. Will awoke the next morning shivering and wrapped his blanket around him tighter, forming a cocoon of sorts. The chill seemed to seep in through his floorboards and through the windows. As the cold settled decidedly in the heart of Will’s home, Will groaned in frustration. He tossed restlessly before finally sitting up in bed. It was still early, the sun had yet to rise, but Will dragged himself out of bed nonetheless. He shuffled over to the fireplace and bent over the unused logs from the night before and started a fire. He warmed his hands in front of it before he finally sat on the rug in front of his hearth, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, and his dogs lumbered over to him in no time. 

When Will came out of his reverie an hour later, he smiled softly at all the dogs huddled in the warmth around him. He scratched their ears and made small crooning noises as his dogs stretched their tired limbs and slowly woke. As Will was scratching Buster, a singularly powerful gust of wind rattled the house and Will couldn’t help the chills that claimed him. As he stared at the hairs on his arm slowly coming to attention, he felt an incredibly clear sense of impending doom. The wind whistled harshly and even the rising sun seemed to cast an eerie light across the snow. 

Will tried to dispel his nausea by downing a mug of coffee but now all he felt was nauseous and jittery. He dressed in a somewhat haphazardly fashion and couldn’t spare the time to fix his hair before he was running out the door to meet Jack. 

The ride to the courtroom did nothing to sooth Will’s growing dread that the day held disaster. Jack was even more curt than usual and kept taking the turns way too fast for Will’s liking, at one point causing Will’s glasses to fall as he whipped the car around a particularly tight turn. 

Jack’s jaw was set in a harsh line and he kept muttering curses under his breath at troublesome drivers as they made their way into Baltimore. After Jack swerved recklessly around a slow driver, Will finally found his limits to be exceeded. 

“Jack, do you want to tell me what the hell is wrong with you?” Will snapped. Jack shot him a nasty glare and opened his mouth to respond before he closed his mouth just as quickly. His eyes shot up to Will’s disheveled hair, his askew tie, and finally his tired eyes. Jack took a deep breath and sighed. 

“Today’s all about the defense. Metcalfe is gonna be up there, spewing a bunch of bullshit saying Lecter is insane, that he had absolutely no control over his actions, blah, blah, blah. But you know what pisses me off, even more than Lecter himself?” Will didn’t even have time to nod before Jack jumped right back into it. “Both Alana and Chilton are helping that son of a bitch. Lecter tosses Alana out of a window and frames Chilton for murder, and then they decide to protect him, to fight for his life? That feels like a goddamn betrayal if ever there was one,” Jack spits, slamming the heel of his palm into the steering wheel in frustration. Will simply takes in Jack expressionlessly before looking out the car window and sighing. 

“They’re scared, Jack. The last time Alana saw Hannibal, he was promising her he’d still kill her, and perhaps even her family. As for Frederick, he just wants another shiny toy to keep in his toy chest. But at the end of the day, they’re both just scared. Fear drove them to making deals with the devil,” Will says, his lip curling with disgust. 

“The devil doesn’t make for a good tradesman, Will.” 

“Hannibal does,” Will said quickly. “He always keeps his promises, Jack.” Jack just shook his head, as if he couldn’t fathom this life he led. 

“I don’t give a damn if Hannibal Lecter keeps his promises or not. I just want his ass convicted and finally held accountable for all the shit he pulled. I’m tired, Will. I just want this to be over.” 

Will lowered his eyes at that and stared out at the trees flying past the car.  _ Do I want this to be over? _ Will couldn’t help but feel consternation in the face of his feelings telling him he rather have the court case drag on forever than for it to end and Hannibal to be whisked away and hidden amongst the finest china, seeing the light of day only when Chilton saw fit to bring him out of his cabinet. 

They finally arrived at the courthouse and Jack grumbled at the thick snow coating the parking lot. He finally just parked his car in the middle of the snow-packed field and began his trek to the doors. Will followed more slowly, kicking the snow up under his feet and watching it fall back down as if in slow motion. He passed Z and Jimmy on the way in, averting his eyes when he saw Z grab the sides of Jimmy’s face and kiss him with a fierce affection. He tried to pretend that his first reaction hadn’t been to wish he could do the same to Hannibal. 

The moment Will crossed the threshold of the courtroom, he could sense danger. He could practically smell the beginnings of a spark, could feel the tendrils of disaster. Even the air around him seemed to buzz with electrical insight. 

And yet everyone seemed completely normal. The people in the courtroom chatted in the same way they had yesterday and the day before that. Heels tapped the floor impatiently, gum smacked loudly, reporters scribbled away on notepads. 

Will cautiously took a seat, this time ending up on the defense side of the room. Hannibal was already seated at the defense bench and turned, gazing wordlessly at Will. Neither of them said a word, but there was a desperation in the air between them, a desperation that hadn’t been this palpable since the Uffizi in Italy. Hannibal turned back around first, his chin resolutely held up in an air of dignity despite his current conditions.

Will sat a few rows behind Alana and Margot who were in the front row. Alana saw him and smiled at him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed frazzled and kept checking her watch impatiently. 

“Where the hell is he?” Will heard Hannibal’s lawyer, Metcalfe, ask Alana. 

“I don’t know, Byron! If I did I would’ve told you, wouldn’t I?” she spat at him. 

Alana glanced towards the doors at the back of the courtroom before turning to Margot. Margot placed a hand on Alana’s cheek. 

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon, okay? Frederick knows how important this is.” 

“Yeah, well, he better know. He’s got well over half of our research with him. We need him,” Alana said to Margot imploringly. Margot just nodded and tried to soothe Alana by rubbing small circles in her back. 

The doors in the back of the courtroom swung open and Will spun around to see if it was Chilton. Surely enough, Chilton came striding into the courtroom, carrying a large box of files. The room quieted down a bit and people started to look him over, mumbling about him and most likely trying to ascertain why he would bother defending Hannibal. 

Chilton stalked down the aisle, clearly reveling in the attention. When he made his way to Alana and Metcalfe, he smiled. 

“Where the hell have you been? We needed that stuff,” she said while making a grab for the box of research and various other necessities. Chilton withdrew the box from her reach quickly and made a tutting noise. The whole room was watching the exchange now, Hannibal politely amused as if he was watching child’s play. 

“Poor Alana, always the fighter,” Chilton said mockingly, though the way he shook his head portrayed genuine dismay at the situation. 

“Give me the box,” tried Metcalfe, his arms outstretched. When Chilton took a step back out of his grasp, the lawyer’s eyes filled with a quiet (but steadily growing) panic and Alana’s filled with a murderous rage. 

“I believe that box belongs to us, now,” Ms. Ramierez said as she approached Frederick in the aisle. She held out her hands expectantly and Chilton made a show of keeping eye contact with Metcalfe as he placed the box in her hands. Gasps broke out across the room and Will felt suddenly quite ill. Chilton, however, looked quite the opposite. 

“Hannibal Lecter is not insane,” Chilton scoffed, though he avoided making eye contact with Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter meticulously framed me. It took rationality and cool logic to do that. He deserves what’s coming to him,” he said with menace, smirking at Alana when she stalked up to him. 

“Fuck you,” she whispered angrily, tears falling from her eyes. 

“Oh, Alana. I am sorry you got caught in the crosshairs. I only aimed to maim Hannibal… you were just collateral damage,” he said with a shrug before he flashed a smile at an angry Metcalfe. He even managed to brave eye contact with Hannibal but when Hannibal just smiled more widely at him, he quickly rushed over to his seat near Jack on the front row behind the prosecutor’s bench. 

The courtroom was immediately filled with chatter and Will felt his head spin. His vision began to blur and he could only see red. He knew, on an intrinsic level, that the red was Chilton’s blood. A primitive desire swept over his body and Will longed to lunge at Chilton, to rip him apart and see his blood stain the floors of the courtroom. He very shakily stood up and made it to the doors of the courtroom before flinging them open. 

He walked down several corridors before he found a darker hallway that looked unused. He crept down the hallway, entered a small room and collapsed to the floor. He took several deep breaths and willed his heart to slow its beating. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to calm the shaking.  _ Fucking Chilton _ . 

Will just barely held his head above the tumultuous waves of his emotions. On the one hand, he was fairly certain that if Chilton walked through the door this instant, he’d end up leaving the room in a body bag. But buried under all of the rage was the question of why he felt the rage so intensely in the first place. On some level, Will knew it was because he was afraid of what this meant for Hannibal’s trial. And on an even deeper level, Will knew in his heart he was craving revenge and wanted to protect Hannibal more than anything. He hated the fact he still wanted to protect Hannibal, even after everything. 

After a good half hour of calming himself and processing his feelings, he stood up and made his way back to the courtroom. He slid in the doors quietly and sat on the last row at the back of the room. 

Will had been to several court cases. He’d been an expert witness in several cases, a juror in others, and then there was his own. All of this meant that he was familiar with how a good defense should sound. And what he was seeing unfold at the front of the courtroom right now was not how a good defense should be presented. 

Hannibal’s lawyer had a defeated droop to his shoulders. To his credit, he did keep trying to raise his chin in determination, but it would soon fall thereafter. With Chilton having removed himself as an expert witness to Hannibal’s insanity, Alana’s testimony was the only hope they had left. 

She was on the witness stand, testifying that, in her expert opinion as a forensic psychiatrist, Hannibal was insane. She diagnosed him with narcissism-  _ accurate _ -, psychopathy-  _ debatable?- _ , and PTSD-  _ bullshit _ . Will couldn’t help but watch the eyes of the jury and was unsurprised to find over half of them with discreet skeptical looks on their faces. The only one who seemed to truly believe Alana was the young woman- the one who reminded Will of Abigail. 

Metcalfe returned to his seat and Ms. Ramierez stood up to cross-examine Alana. She walked towards her, confident as ever. 

“Dr. Bloom, how long have you known Dr. Lecter?” Alana shifted in her seat but her eyes were still filled with determination. 

“Since I was a postdoc at Johns Hopkins. About ten years.” 

“I see. And you never suspected that Dr. Lecter was insane? The way you described him just now would certainly display early warning signs that a trained psychiatrist would see easily. Am I incorrect?” Alana’s jaw tightened and she tried to keep her voice steady. 

“No, I never suspected he was insane. There is such a thing as late development, even sudden development, when it comes to symptoms.” 

“Sure, I understand. Let’s say they did develop late. Were you not intimate with Dr. Lecter just a short two years ago?” Alana stayed quiet. “Please answer the question, Dr. Bloom.” 

“Yes, but-” Alana said. 

“Has Dr. Lecter ever threatened you, Dr. Bloom?” Alana’s brow furrowed just slightly but she quickly recovered. 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Dr. Lecter never threatened me.” 

“Really? Because I have a recording that suggests otherwise.” Alana’s eyes widened in fear as Ms. Ramierez played a clip on the computer for the courtroom to hear: 

“And what exactly do you hope to gain by defending ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’?” came Chilton’s voice through the static recording. 

“The last time I saw Hannibal, he promised me he’d kill me. My family too. I may be foolish, but I’m trying to save his life in an effort to save mine. I’m hoping that if I do this for him, he could… review his promise and promise me life instead.” Alana’s voice was unmistakable. 

Ms. Ramierez paused the clip and turned back to Alana. 

“Dr. Bloom, is that your voice in the recording?” Alana nodded, knowing defeat. 

“Your honor, I motion to dismiss the witness’s testimony on the grounds of deceit and perjury of the law,” Ms. Ramierez said while looking at Judge Honesworth. He glanced down at Alana thoughtfully before looking back at Ms. Ramierez. 

“Sustained,” he said before turning to the jury. “The jury will strike the testimony of Dr. Bloom from the record; it is not admissible and therefore it will not factor into your decision on the defendant’s guilt.” 

Alana’s eyes filled with unshed tears and she angrily left the witness stand and walked straight out of the courtroom doors. Hannibal watched her pass bemusedly and Margot ran after her. Judge Honesworth gaveled down the noise that had taken over the courtroom. 

“Final arguments to be delivered tomorrow. Dismissed,” he said as he adjourned the court for the day. Hannibal was quickly led out of the courtroom and Will watched his retreating figure with a knot of anxiety in his chest. 

When Will made it out of the courtroom, he walked in on another scene. Chilton had just passed the spot where Alana had been waiting for him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Frederick?” she spat at him, her arms crossed, as if she was holding herself back from punching him in the nose. 

“Alana, I had to. Trust me, as much as I wanted him in my hospital, I want him to be punished even more. He’ll wither away just from suffering the  _ indignity _ of an ordinary jail cell for the rest of his life,” Chilton said cruelly. 

“You were recording me, the whole time, to discredit me?” Alana asked, her tone unable to disguise the hurt she felt. The briefest flare of guilt shone in Chilton’s eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. His gaze hardened and he looked her over, his lip curling ever so slightly. 

“You played right into his hands, Alana. My advice would be to get the hell out of the country and bury your tracks so well he could never find you. Stop being a pawn,” Chilton said, before brushing past her and stalking off to join the prosecutors. 

Jack stood amongst the prosecution team and he steadily met Will’s gaze over the crowd exiting the courtroom. Will made to walk towards the front doors to the courthouse but Jack caught him just before he reached them. 

“Will, calm down. You look like shit.” Will paused, hand on the door handle, and kept his gaze facing forwards, refusing to meet Jack’s eyes. 

“Did you know?” he asked, tone sullen and sunken. 

“No. You know I didn’t know, said as much this morning.” Will’s eyes flickered to his and scanned, detecting for deceit. Seeing none, he relaxed his shoulders ever so slightly. 

“Chilton’s a coward. He fucked over Alana, he fucked over Metcalfe,” Will suddenly tapered off and Jack looked at him knowingly. 

“And he fucked over Hannibal. Will, I understand that in some strange way, this is hard for you, but-” 

“Save it, Jack. Seriously. I don’t want to hear it. I just want to be alone,” Will said, pushing open the door and walking into the raging winds. He hailed a taxi, climbed in, and settled into the back seat, grateful for the silence. 

His mind was spinning. Hannibal’s case had just been blown wide open. He’d lost the two key psychiatric testimonies for his defense. Because Chilton had not only undermined them by pulling out at the last minute, but also by discrediting Alana, Metcalfe had very little to work with. The defense had been truly abysmal. The reality of this fact came to Will not at once, as reality is prone to do, but instead came in short bursts. With each new burst of understanding, Will could feel his heart breaking, his anxiety rearing its ugly head. 

He didn’t even make it to his front porch before he was vomiting in his bushes.  _ It’s too much, I can’t- _ . He collapsed on his bed and drew his blankets tight. The dogs huddled up around him, and their (not so quiet) snores eased his nerves just enough for him to slip into an uneasy sleep. And in this other reality, a world where everything was slightly blurred at the edges with a certain hue of sleepiness, he saw Hannibal. He saw him and cried out to him. And this not-so-real Hannibal turned and held out his arms, into which Will sank until they became one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to all my Chilton stans! I love him, but this is definitely something he would do !
> 
> you've successfully made it to the pivot point of the story my friends. things are gonna start changing real fast so stay tuned ;)
> 
> much love <3


	15. The Verdict

Will shivered as a particularly nasty gust of wind engulfed him where he sat on his front porch. He pulled his pathetic excuse of a sweater- an old dark green fisherman’s sweater with large gaping holes and frayed edges- tighter around his slight frame but was too miserable to walk back inside and grab a coat or blanket. Instead, Will sat freezing as he waited to welcome the sun when it deemed the sky worthy enough of its presence. 

Will had slipped in and out of sleep most of the night, always meeting Hannibal in his dreams. As the time passed, the dreams became increasingly tinged with notes of desperation and despair. Not once, in any of the dreams, did Hannibal’s composure break. But Will was another story. Will watched his dream self cry and grasp at Hannibal’s shoulders. In a singularly disturbing dream -indeed it was the one that had awoken him- Will had even watched himself let out a strangled cry as Hannibal was dragged away from the clutches of his arms, handcuffed, and thrown into a dingy cell. He had woken with a choked sob and the image of Hannibal wasting away in a cell clung to the back of his eyelids. 

Will was sitting in a rickety chair and when the anxiety became too overwhelming, he pulled his knees to his chest. He buried his head in between his knees and mentally willed himself to pull it together. Today would be the last day of court before Hannibal’s sentencing. And then, it would just be… over. 

Will had ignored the numerous phone calls he had gotten last night. Alana had called a couple of times but Will didn’t want to hear her complain about Chilton’s betrayal when he knew her concerns about the case were entirely selfish. Jimmy had risked a call, which Will recognized as nice but it still wasn’t enough to make him pick up. And the number of calls he’d gotten from Jack made Will want to bury his phone in the backyard and maybe he’d listen to the voicemails when he was dead and in the ground, too. 

Thankfully, Jack had gotten the hint that Will was not entirely pleased with him and would certainly not be interested in riding into Baltimore with him. But this didn’t change the fact that Will hated driving in the city, so he ended up arranging for a cab to pick him up on this fateful morning. At least he could count on a silent ride into the city. 

An hour later saw Will seated in the back of a cab, meticulously cleaning his glasses in an effort to appear busy in the hope that it would discourage the driver from making conversation. Will was lucky today, however, and the driver seemed just as relieved Will wasn’t a talker. They made their way into the city in silence and as they approached the courthouse, Will could hear his heart hammering. He pushed through the nausea and stumbled out of the cab. He made his way to the front doors and pushed open, his body carrying him through the motions while his brain was tucked away in a quiet place. 

He had been early, of course, and locked himself in a restroom stall at the earliest possible moment. He was angry enough to punch the stall door when he heard Alana’s voice asking if he was okay but held himself back just in time. He creaked open the door and stared at her. He couldn’t even bring himself to form words. His eyes must have said enough and Alana’s gaze softened. 

“I’m sorry, Will. I can’t imagine all of the conflicting emotions you’re feeling. I’m not here to therapize, I promise. I’m seriously just making sure you’re okay.” Will just nodded and leaned back against the stall door to look at her again, to truly look and  _ see _ . 

“I remember you followed me into the bathroom on the first day of court, asking after my wellbeing. And here we are again,” Will said. “Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment,” he added softly. 

“I remember, too. I stood where I am standing now. It’s as if time has sped past but here I am, still standing in the same spot, stagnant.” She sighed and leaned back on the wall, crossing her arms. 

“What did he give you that night?” Will asked as a memory suddenly came to him. 

“What?” Alana asks, confused. 

“That night at the Vergers’. I was in and out of it, but I saw Hannibal hand you something before giving you Mason. What was it?” Alana blinked slowly and shook her head. 

“Out of all the things you could possibly ask me about that night, this is what sticks out to you?” Will nodded. Alana smirked as she said “Hannibal gave us Mason’s sperm.” 

“Why…?” Will asked before it dawned on him. “Right, the inheritance,” he said, nodding slowly and looking at her once again. Now that he thought about it, there  _ was  _ something that looked different about her, and it wasn’t just her clothing. 

“You’re pregnant,” Will said. It wasn’t a question. Alana looked momentarily shocked before she offered him a small smile and nodded. 

“Margot and I couldn’t wait. We’re having a small wedding, in about a month or so before the baby really starts to show. You’re invited, of course,” she added.  _ How the fuck can she stand here and talk about a wedding when Hannibal is out there, about to be torn apart by a jury? _ Will just nodded slowly and averted his eyes. 

“When you know, you know, Will. Margot’s my person. I’m sure you’ll find yours someday,” she said with an irritating smile that Will longed to rip off her face.  _ What if I don’t know? What if I only think I know whether or not they are ‘my person’, only to most assuredly not know in the next breath? What if my person is the one person I can never have? _

“He’s going to lose his insanity plea, isn’t he, Alana?” Will asked quietly. Alana looked him over, expressionless. Will watched her, and he could feel the depth of her concern. But the concern wasn’t just for him. Her ulterior motives were clear now. 

“You defended him because you knew you were going to carry Margot’s child. You knew you’d have a full family, with children to protect. And you knew he’d come calling someday, meaning to keep his promise to kill you. You think a child would stop him?” Will asked her incredulously, his eyes darkening as he cocked his head to the side slightly and stepped closer to her. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t draw immense satisfaction from the flicker of fear in her eyes as he advanced on her. 

“I don’t think anything would ever stop him. Except you,” she added thoughtfully. It was her turn to cock her head in interest and get a glimpse into the emotions waging war in the depths of his irises. 

“Hannibal’s fate is out of my control now,” she continued. “At least I can say I tried. You can’t,” she added with a sneer before drawing her shoulders up and walking out of the bathroom, her heels clicking menacingly on the tile. 

Will lowered his eyes to the floor and pulled at his curls in anguish again, knowing she was right. He hadn’t made any effort to help protect Hannibal, not really. He swallowed the lump in his throat as best he could and made his way to the courtroom. 

The courtroom was teeming with people. FBI scientists and agents crowded the rows behind the prosecutor’s bench. The first row behind the defendant’s bench was empty save Alana and Margot. Though they were the only ones who sat behind the defense, they held their heads high as ever. A couple rows behind Alana and Margot, reporters had claimed spaces and were preparing notes as they sat waiting. Just as they had done at the beginning of the proceedings, the victims’ families occupied much of the back rows on the prosecutor’s side. 

As Will stood in the back deliberating, several other FBI suits as well as members of the general public filed in. The courtroom was exceeding its capacity at this point and a cacophony of chatter was making Will’s headache worse. He felt torn in half as he stood at the courtroom doors, still trying to decide where to sit. The logical and rational part of Will-his mind- was intensely angry with Hannibal and was pulling him towards the prosecution. But his ever-traitorous heart pulled him towards the defense. 

A sudden clap on his shoulder by a large hand stopped his agonizing over where to sit. One of the court police officers was telling him to pick a seat, as everyone had to be seated during proceedings. Spurned on by the interruption, Will quickly sat in the back row on the side of the prosecution. His mind had won out this time. 

The doors off to the side of the judge’s bench banged open dramatically and the jury filed in. All of them wore solemn and tired faces, likely dreading the deliberation period they had ahead of themselves following today’s closing arguments. Will felt a surge of anger.  _ Who are these people that they should be deemed responsible for deciding Hannibal’s fate? _

As the jury settled into their seats, the lawyers walked to their respective benches. Hannibal’s lawyer, Metcalfe, wore a grim and tense expression. Even from his seat at the back of the room, Will could see a vein throbbing in the man’s head. Will would be surprised if Metcalfe made it to the end of the day without bursting it. 

The prosecutor, Ms. Ramierez, however, wore an expression that exuded confidence. She sat with her shoulders upright and had her attention focused on the wall ahead of her. She snapped her gaze towards the door and Will followed her gaze to see an officer make his way through before he looked down at the man’s hand and saw him holding a chain. Will forcefully swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he saw the man yank cruelly on it, causing Hannibal to stumble as he walked through the door. 

The courtroom was silent yet the tension in the air was thick. Will could feel the hatred emanating off of virtually everyone in the courtroom. Their hatred for Hannibal combined with his own, and he glared at Hannibal, Abigail and Beverly on his mind. 

But when Hannibal straightened up- smoothing his tie as best he could with the handcuffs on- Will felt his heart ease up a little, and he tried to school his expression into one of neutrality rather than betraying the concern he felt. 

Hannibal was led to his usual spot and shoved into his seat. Apparently, decorum was already fading fast in the courtroom. Will tapped his foot nervously and tried to tune out the excited whispers that had broken out across the room. 

The door in the back swung open one more time and Judge Honesworth bustled in, his face set in a hard line.

“Settle down!” he yelled over the noise in the courtroom as he banged the gavel on his desk repeatedly. Silence fell across the room and the judge squirmed in his chair as he withdrew his reading glasses. He took his time to clean them, leaving the crowd waiting with bated breath for him to speak. He cleared his throat and began the proceedings with a tone bordering on boredom. 

“Both the prosecution and the defendant will have time today to offer their closing arguments. The prosecution will go first, we’ll have a brief recess, and then return to hear the defense. The jury will then begin deliberation.” He turned towards Ms. Ramierez. “Counselor, are you ready to proceed?” 

“I am, your honor.” Judge Honesworth nodded at her in response and sat back in his chair. Ms. Ramierez stood and walked to the center of the courtroom. She clasped her hands in front of her and began to pace in front of the jury. 

“Esteemed members of the jury, I’m here to explain to you the importance of not only finding Dr. Hannibal Lecter guilty, but also ruling in favor of him being a man in complete control of his mental state; in other words, he is as sane as any other man and as such, he must be held fully accountable for his actions, to the fullest extent of the law.

“Over the past several weeks, the prosecution has demonstrated to each of you the extent to which Dr. Lecter went to ensure his victims suffered. He ripped a teenage girl’s lungs out of her while she was still alive and impaled her a pair of antlers. He killed one of his own patients in his office. He murdered an FBI agent and dissected her into pieces for display. He murdered another teenage girl in front of Mr. Graham, whose testimony you heard on a few occasions. He not only murdered all of these people and many more, but he also  _ ate _ their organs. He cannibalized these people for no other reason than because he wanted to, for his own pleasure and amusement. He attempted to kill Mr. Graham, and held Miriam Lass hostage for two years before taking her arm. 

“He also has made a habit of manipulating situations to optimize his own benefits. The level of calculation and cool logic needed to pull off these extravagant plans are not the mental machinations of a mentally ill individual; it is the mark of a deeply sadistic individual who takes pleasure exerting his dominion over others,” Ms Ramierez said while staring at Hannibal blankly. Hannibal had his hands clasped on the table in front of him and was listening intently. He stared her down in return and she finally dropped her gaze. Will could see the side of his face light up in a small smile at the prosecutor’s ferocity and he felt a twinge of jealousy, as if a small part of him wished it was he Hannibal was pleased with. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard expert testimony from several psychiatrists whereas the defense has been unable to produce any. These psychiatrists all attested to the fact that Hannibal Lecter does not demonstrate any symptoms or traits of a mentally ill individual. Their expertise is more than enough to assure you that this man,” she said while pointing at Hannibal, “is a dangerous, manipulative, and extremely sadistic man. All of these facts indicate that Dr. Lecter is a very grave threat to the wellbeing of our people. He does not deserve your mercy. He does not exhibit any mental illness, as has been attested. As such, I urge the jury to convict Dr. Lecter to the fullest extent of the law,” she said while looking at each juror pointedly. She then returned to her seat and looked expectantly at Judge Honesworth. 

“Thank you, Counselor. We will now have a brief recess and reconvene in twenty minutes to hear the closing argument of the defense. Thank you, dismissed,” he said before standing and disappearing behind the closed door at the back of the room. 

People began filing out quickly and Will was soon left sitting in the back of the room relatively alone. 

Chilton was in the front of the room, chatting up the prosecutor. Will rolled his eyes before his gaze shifted over to where Hannibal was, sitting alone and chained to the table. Without even sparing a moment for coherent thought, he felt his legs walking up to Hannibal. When he was only halfway there, Hannibal’s head tilted in his direction without turning to look. Though Will could only see half of his face, he could see that Hannibal’s eyes were closed in contentment as he breathed in Will’s scent. Will flushed but walked closer nonetheless. He rounded the defendant’s bench and stood at the desk, directly across from Hannibal, who had tilted his head down slightly, eyes remaining closed.

They were closer now than they had been in months. Hannibal was three, maybe four, feet from him. His hands were clasped in front of him, resting right behind the small bar where his handcuffs were attached to the table. Will said nothing, just looked down at him and heaved a sigh. 

Hannibal looked up at him then, his eyes slightly wider than usual. With a hitch in his breath, Will was reminded of a similar circumstance in which Hannibal had looked at him like he was now. Then, Hannibal had just killed Franklyn and Tobias and had blood dripping from his chin. His expression then had been pure adoration; Will found himself unworthy of the whispers of adoration he saw in Hannibal’s eyes even now. 

“You’re not going to win the trial,” Will said bluntly, his gaze dropping to watch his own finger tracing random designs on the table to avoid the intensity of Hannibal’s expression. 

“I know,” came Hannibal’s quick reply. Will’s eyes shot back up to meet his.

“You don’t sound particularly concerned, Dr. Lecter.”

“That would be because I am not concerned,” Hannibal said evenly, his eyes not leaving Will’s once. Will narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything else. Hannibal leaned forward. 

“Are you concerned, Will?” Hannibal asked, desire flickering briefly in his eyes. Will didn’t answer so he pressed on. “Do you find you are at odds with yourself, once again?” Will glared at Hannibal but still didn’t answer. A small voice in his head was whispering  _ yes, yes _ in a quiet mantra and Will found himself speaking without deciding to do so. 

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and the man I see is not the man I was meant to be. If I stare past my own reflection, past the shoulder of my mirror-self, there I find yet another man. He looks like me but he is not me. Or, rather, I am not him. Not yet anyway,” Will says softly, his mind filling with the fear of what he could become. Hannibal- _ annoyingly- _ nodded as if he understood. 

“You see two versions of yourself; you first see yourself as you currently are, and intrinsically you know you have yet to actualize yourself. Hence the shadow of who you could become, looming ever-presently behind you.” 

“You revel in the shadow.” 

“So do you, despite what you may claim,” Hannibal said with a slight quirk of his lips. “Tolerance does not become you, Will.”

Will once again found himself unable to produce a response. Hannibal’s hands resting on the desk seemed so strong, so warm. He fought the impulse to brush his fingers across the knuckles laid out before him. 

“What will you do?” Will whispered, before glancing up to search Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal’s face, naturally, remained impassive. 

“I am content to see what fate has in store for me.” 

“Oh, bullshit. You’re always planning something, Hannibal.” Hannibal shrugged. 

“Perhaps not this time,” he said softly and cast his gaze downwards. Will was reminded of Chilton telling him that Hannibal was ‘apathetic.’ Looking back over Hannibal’s face, Will decided Hannibal wasn’t apathetic. He was just… content. 

Will was surprised to find that this information made him enraged. He realized that he would rather Hannibal suffer, to actually pay penance for the lives he took. For Abigail. But instead, Hannibal was unfazed. Completely unbothered he’d be losing his freedom. The thought made Will sick. 

Will was about to make some other snide remark, but the bang of the courtroom doors opening interrupted him. Hannibal glanced back up at Will, his eyes following the hard set of his jaw. Just as Will began to walk back to his seat, Hannibal’s hand shot out and gripped his arm tightly. Will looked down to see Hannibal looking intently at him. Hannibal opened his mouth but then uncharacteristically hesitated and shut his mouth. Will raised an eyebrow. Hannibal’s expression lost its (already minute) vulnerability. The mask was back in place. 

“A shadow, by nature, is not a separate entity from the body from which it originates. It is simply and definitionally a real image, a different projection of the original ‘body.’ That shadow in your mirror you claimed to fear is already you, Will. You are already ‘him’, as you say. You cannot outrun a shadow. You are the shadow.” 

Will ripped his arm from Hannibal’s grasp roughly just as the lawyers were returning to the bench and people were beginning to stream back into the room. He cast one last cold glare at Hannibal before walking briskly back to his seat at the back of the courtroom. 

He watched the people file past him while his rage simmered, threatening to boil. He crossed one leg over the other and rubbed his face in his hands before pulling his head back up, pushing his hair back, and sliding his own mask back into place. After all, he only had to endure this for just a bit longer. 

Judge Honesworth gaveled down the scattered conversation and Will saw Metcalfe shuffle his papers nervously. Hannibal was observing Metcalfe with thinly veiled disdain; Will knew the look on Hannibal’s face meant he was mentally scrolling through his rolodex, perusing recipes to turn Metcalfe’s recklessness into art. 

Judge Honesworth cleared his throat and glanced to Metcalfe with a tired expression. 

“Counselor, if you are ready, you may proceed with the defense’s closing argument.” 

Metcalfe stood abruptly, causing his chair to screech against the tiled floor. He winced in embarrassment and tugged at his tie uncomfortably. Will could see sweat beading at the man’s forehead as he began walking to face the jury. He cleared his throat, trying to gather his nerves and direct them towards some common purpose. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the prosecution discuss the matter of Dr. Lecter’s sanity. Your prosecutors have argued that Dr. Lecter is not, and never has been, an insane man. They point to his academic prowess as evidence of his sanity; I would just like to remind the jury that geniuses are most often insane themselves,” Metcalfe said, his voice starting to break nervously. Part of Will couldn’t blame him, considering his whole defense had been wiped out by Chilton’s betrayal and the subsequent dismissal of Alana’s psychiatric defense. 

“Not to mention the prosecutor’s case is reliant on aid from Dr. Chilton, a man who previously was working for the defense and has a personal vendetta against the defendant,” Metcalfe said in a desperate attempt to find something that would resonate with the jury. 

“Objection!” came Ms. Ramierez’s voice. Judge Honesworth sighed. 

“Sustained. Mr. Metcalfe, stop badgering the prosecution. Move on,” the judge said.

Metcalfe was standing on a floor that was rapidly transforming into quicksand, sure to swallow him whole. Metcalfe knew he had nothing. No ace up his sleeve, no testimony to save the day. He turned to look at Hannibal briefly and then his eyes flickered to Will. Something seemed to occur to him so he turned back to the jury with renewed determination. 

“Dr. Lecter displayed a consistent disinterest in people. That is, until he met Mr. Graham.” 

Will ground his teeth in irritation as most of the audience swiveled in their seats to stare at him.

“Dr. Lecter displayed excessive fascination with him, to the point of it becoming obsessive. He made it his life’s mission to become close to this man, to join himself with this man.” 

The jury was listening more interestedly now. Metcalfe knew he had them captivated. This seemed to spur him on and he talked with a renewed confidence. 

“Dr. Lecter wanted Will Graham to become a killer so desperately that he aimed to trick him into believing he already was a killer. He forced Abigail Hobbs’ ear down Will’s throat while he was under sedation so that Will would wake up in the morning and vomit up the ear, to then believe he had killed her during a trance. 

“Dr. Lecter then framed Will as a serial killer, putting him in jail so that Will would be under his control. He wanted to alienate Will, to awaken the killer in him. Dr. Lecter truly believed he was doing the best thing for Mr. Graham’s wellbeing. 

“He became so obsessed with Will Graham that he didn’t notice Graham’s trap. But when he did notice it, he stabbed Mr. Graham, ripping through his stomach to mimic the gut-wrenching pain Dr. Lecter had felt at Graham’s betrayal. 

“While in Italy, Dr. Lecter twisted the body of one of his victims into a shape resembling a broken heart, all to communicate his depth of feeling for Mr. Graham. 

“But Will Graham was still hunting Dr. Lecter. When Graham attempted to stab Dr. Lecter, Dr. Lecter knew then that Will would continue fighting him, fighting their connection. 

“Esteemed members of the jury, I implore you to understand the depth of Dr. Lecter’s disease. He became so enraptured, so obsessed, he thought he could literally discern Will Graham’s thoughts by cutting his head open and consuming his brain. And that’s what he tried to do, before he was stopped. Mr. Graham has the scar to prove it.

“Dr. Lecter is in love with Will Graham,” Metcalfe stated bluntly. Murmurs broke out across the room and the Will was regrettably aware of the hundreds of eyes that were fixed on him. Will gripped the edge of his seat. Jack had warned him about this, had warned Will that this topic may come up in the court, but Will still refused to believe anything that Hannibal had done to him was out of love. 

“He was so in love with Mr. Graham that he quite literally wanted to break him open and consume his brain, all in a desperate attempt to understand the man who refused to become his partner, his partner in crime, his partner in life.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, these are not the actions of a sane, calculating man. These are the behaviors exhibited by an impulsive, desperate, and insane man. As such, I implore the jury to find the defendant, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, guilty but legally insane. I rest my case,” Metcalfe said before turning to walk back to his seat. 

Will blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. He felt dizzy and could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. His eyes raked over the jury, trying to discern what they were thinking. There was a lot of confusion amongst them, that was for sure. He had a terrible suspicion that the jury would take quite some time to deliberate. 

“Esteemed members of the jury, the time for deliberation has now begun. Please follow Officer Blake through the side door to the deliberation chambers. As for the rest of you,” he said, swiveling to face the general audience. “I’m sure you’re well aware of how variable deliberation can be. If the jury has not come to a decision by 5:00 pm today, you will be dismissed and not called back until the jury is ready to read the verdict. As for now, you are free to remain in this courtroom for the remaining two hours of the day in the off chance they reach a verdict today. That is all,” he said as he stood and walked back through the door at the back of the room. 

_ Fuck _ . Will stood and slid through the back doors, eager to get out of the stuffiness of the room. He made his way across the courtroom lobby and sat in a squishy armchair that was off to the side, far from anyone else. He turned it to face the large windows at the front of the lobby and absentmindedly watched the snow fall. 

An hour passed. Then a half hour more. With fifteen minutes before 5:00, they were all ushered back into the courtroom. 

“It’s as expected, folks,” said Judge Honesworth. “The jury will not be reaching consensus today. They will be deliberating everyday until they do so. As I’ve said, this process can often take days. You will be notified a day prior to the verdict. That is all. Dismissed,” he said, gaveling them out. 

Will found himself relieved but anxious at the same time. He knew the coming days would be hell. 

The first day, Will tried his best to distract himself by going ice fishing. He ended up catching nothing and had to pull Winston out of the ice hole after he’d slipped in. He didn’t sleep. 

The second day, Will deep-cleaned his house, which is something he never did. He kept walking in circles, dusting random things. He hid the picture of him and Beverely that had reminded him of Hannibal only to take it out again only to re-hide it. He fell asleep with it clutched in his hand. 

The third day, Will went for a run. And he kept running, for what seemed like hours. He finally stopped after about three hours of jogging and then swore loudly when he realized he had to go all the way back home. When he returned in the evening, he passed out and slept for fourteen hours. 

The fourth day and fifth day all ran together in Will’s mind. He poured himself into his dissertation research- he’d forgotten he was still a PhD student with responsibilities- and didn’t get up from his laptop save to let the dogs out. 

The sixth morning, he woke to a phone call. 

“Jack.” 

“Will. They’re done deliberating. The verdict will be read tomorrow morning, at 9:00 am. Would you like a ride?” 

Will didn’t trust himself behind a wheel. Not now. 

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

“Be ready at 7:30,” Jack said before abruptly hanging up. 

That evening, Will sat before his fireplace and stared into the flames. He scratched his beard, trying to process what would be happening tomorrow. He’d grown up poor and as a result, he knew that people with money got what they wanted. They always did. Add Hannibal’s personality on top of all his money, Will had a hard time believing Hannibal hadn’t persuaded the jury to rule in his favor. And yet, Will had a nagging doubt in the back of his mind that reminded him of how sincere Hannibal had seemed about accepting his fate… 

Will didn’t sleep. When the morning came, he dressed mechanically and was standing on his porch when Jack arrived. 

He and Jack didn’t speak much. Jack knew Will, or at least knew him well enough to leave him alone. 

Will found himself pulled to Margot’s side when he walked into the courtroom. He was secretly grateful she had found him. Will sat next to Margot and Alana behind the defendant’s bench. Will couldn’t hear the stream of people filling the courtroom over the roar inside his own ears. 

The door at the front of the room swung open. 

Hannibal is brought in, cuffed as usual, but this time he’s wearing his prison jumpsuit. It’s a faded navy jumpsuit, and though Hannibal looks unbothered by it, Will felt his stomach clench at the sight. 

The jury begins to file in, their faces somber. The shoulders of the twelve individuals slump under the burden of deciding Hannibal’s fate. 

Judge Honesworth then strides in, his robes swishing in the frigid air. He bangs the gavel. 

“The clerk will now read the jury’s verdict,” he says. 

The clerk walks up to the jury box and a juror on the front row hands him a piece of paper. The clerk clears his throat. 

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, guilty of all charges. On the question of his mental state, we find him of sound mind. Seeing as he is both guilty of all charges and of sound mind, we, the jury, sentence Dr. Hannibal Lecter with the death penalty.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't hate me !!! there's still a good bit of the story to develop, so stay tuned! 
> 
> I had no idea this fic would be so long but here we are.... hope you're still enjoying it! 
> 
> much love to everyone who reads, comments, gives kudos, etc., ! y'all inspire me to keep writing : )


	16. Aftermath

Will’s heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe. The room began to spin in a whirl of violent colors; he was only vaguely aware of Margot reaching out to clutch his hand. 

He blinked repeatedly, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he tried to process what he just heard.  _ The death penalty?  _

The reporters in the back of the room scribbled in their notes furiously and cameras flashed with the light of finality. Time seemed to stand still. Will felt like little more than shadow suspended in dust. 

His eyes drifted to Hannibal, who he could only see the back of. Even from this limited vantage point, Will could see that Hannibal’s posture was only the slightest bit tense. He hadn’t moved, but Will could see the guards, with their shiny badges and expressionless mustachioed faces, begin to make their way across the room towards Hannibal. 

Slowly, Hannibal stood. Will was just a row away; a mere ten feet separated them. Hannibal turned to Will, his head turning in slow motion, and looked at him intently. His mask fell to reveal an almost tender expression. 

Will yearned to reach across the low wooden barrier between them and touch Hannibal’s chest. He wanted to capture that warmth, just once.  _ God, why hadn’t I done this before?  _ Just as Will took a half step forward, firm hands clamped around Hannibal’s biceps and began to pull him away. 

Panic bloomed in Will’s chest. He made to move forward but an officer that had been watching him threw up an arm and slammed it into Will’s chest to stop him. He resisted desperately before Hannibal’s calm voice reached him and brought him to a halt. 

“Will.” 

The guards had stopped, loosening their grip slightly and allowed Hannibal to address Will’s distress. Will looked to Hannibal, who stood completely at ease despite the fact he was being whisked away to await state execution. His cuffed hands were hanging in front of him, chained to the cuffs around his feet. Will’s eyes settled on Hannibals’ and he swallowed, unsure how to express the emotion in his chest. 

“You can make it all go away. Put your head back, and wade into the quiet of the stream,” Hannibal said with a soft smile. Will just nodded slightly, not once breaking eye contact with Hannibal as he was pulled away and disappeared behind the slamming courtroom door. 

As soon as the door closed, reporters began pouncing on Will in droves. 

“Mr. Graham, is it true Dr. Lecter tried to saw open your skull to eat your brain?” 

“Will, how do you feel knowing Hannibal Lecter will be executed?” 

“Will! Do you love him back?” 

“Mr. Graham has no comments at this time. Excuse us,” Margot says authoritatively. Alana began shouldering her way through the group of reporters to make way for Margot, who grabbed Will’s hand and dragged him out behind her. The three of them huddled together and elbowed their way through the crowd and through the courtroom doors. They crossed the lobby briskly but just as they’re about to make it to the door, Freddie stepped in front of Will, cutting him off. She smirked. 

“Metcalfe made a pretty outlandish argument, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Graham? Or, maybe you wouldn’t. What my readers would really want to know is: does he prefer to fuck you before or after killing with you?” 

Will grounded his teeth together irritably and resisted every urge in his body telling him to snap her neck. 

“I’d be careful if I were you, Freddie. I think he’d prefer I follow through with ‘slicing the ginger’ this time,” Will says quietly, savoring the smallest flash of fear in Freddie’s eyes. He then pushed roughly past her and threw open the door, the icy blast a shock to his heated face. 

Will wasn’t aware of the specifics of  _ how _ he’d gotten home, but as he stumbled through his front door, he felt a shift back into himself, as if he’d just returned to his mind after taking a stroll around the block. Massaging his head worriedly, Will sank into the chair closest to the fireplace, intending on lighting a fire to warm himself. However, he found that as soon as he’d sunk into the chair, exhaustion settled over him and sank deep into his bones. He stared into the empty fireplace and lost all concept of time. His phone rang several times, but he didn’t hear it. 

After several hours had passed, Will was roused from his reverie by the dogs scratching at the door to be let out. He shuffled to the door, let them run around for a few minutes, and then ushered them back inside. He fed them and then, seeing as the sun had set, collapsed into his bed. 

He sat in the middle of his bed, with his back resting against the wall behind him. Directly across from him was  _ the  _ chair, the one Hannibal had sat in all those days ago before Will had rejected him. Before Will had driven him to a cell. 

Will could see a faint outline of Hannibal, an afterimage, in the chair, watching him expressionlessly. Will closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. He turned to his side and folded in on himself, curling into the comfort of his bed. Will clung to a blanket he’d pulled towards him and his heart melted when the dogs joined him, walking in tight little circles before plopping down all around him. Winston plopped down right next to Will, his back against Will’s chest and nestled in. Will ran his hands through Winston’s fur and then laid his head against him. 

It started off as unshed tears filling his eyes but before long, Will began shaking with the effort required to stave off the despair threatening to overcome him. He clung to Winston’s fur as a sob tore through his chest.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _ Will thought he was going to burst under the building pressure of all the emotion inside of him. His heart felt like it was being ripped in half, the blood filling up his lungs and causing him to choke. He was angry-  _ I want him here, with me, right now-  _ but an equally significant part of him felt justice had been served-  _ Hannibal’s not God, he fucking deserves this. _ Even in his absence, Hannibal was killing him. 

A month flew by and Will barely felt it. He’d finally gotten himself together enough to go fishing- which he did for inexcusably long lengths of time- and to work on boat motors he’d been meaning to get to for a while. When he wasn’t pouring himself into physical tasks, he was mentally burying himself in his Phd research, spending long periods reading about different blood spray analyses and what types of insects were most likely to be the best aids to decomposition. He’d even begun drafting a rebuttal to a piece by a colleague-  _ asshole- _ who’d taken up an issue with Will’s monograph. 

Will had ignored every call he’d gotten, and eventually the calls stopped. He worked all day, went to bed early, and re-lived conversations with Hannibal in his memory palace until the morning came. 

One afternoon when Will was particularly engrossed in mending a new motor he’d just dragged out, he missed a few tentative knocks on his door. When he stood up from his living room floor meaning to go check his shed for a part, he was surprised to find himself standing face to face with Chiyoh. 

“You did not lock your door,” she said flatly, by way of greeting.

“Wasn’t expecting anyone,” he replied in the same tone. He looked her over. She looked quite similar to the last time he’d seen her, standing on his porch talking to Hannibal. Although this time, she wasn’t toting her rifle around her neck. 

“You have not answered your mail,” Chiyoh said. Will frowned. 

“What are you talking about?”

“This,” she said, holding a manila envelope in her outstretched hand. Curious, Will grabbed it and turned it over. ‘ _ Mr. Will Graham’  _ was written in an elegant script. An elegant script that Will knew quite well. His stomach dropped. 

He slowly opened the envelope and pulled out a thin piece of paper. He opened it. It read: 

_ Dear Will,  _

_ I had hoped I would be writing this to you at a much later date; fate, however, has deemed otherwise- as she is wont to do- and here we are. I write to you in the hope that you would join me at the dinner table one final time, though I regret to inform you that a chef other than myself will have the pleasure of providing our meal. Our dearest Chiyoh will help you with the logistics.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Hannibal Lecter _

Will frowned.  _ Dinner? A final time?  _ He looked up with the intention of asking Chiyoh what Hannibal was on about, but when he looked up, she had gone. He found her standing on the porch, staring absentmindedly at the same spot she and Hannibal had been talking that day Will had watched them from the window. 

“Chiyoh, I don’t understand. What is Hannibal planning?” She turned to look at him with an angry expression. 

“Planning? He is not  _ planning _ anything, you saw to that.” Upon seeing his continued confusion, she rolled her eyes. 

“Hannibal sent this letter to you two weeks ago. He is hoping you will join him, as he said, for a final meal.” Will still didn’t understand. She sighed. 

“The public is very angry about Hannibal, about what he has done. The governor of Maryland is up for reelection this year, and she wants to be seen as tough on crime and willing to protect the death penalty. They have…  _ expedited _ … Hannibal’s execution. They will execute him in six weeks.” 

Will fought the urge to vomit.  _ Six weeks? _

“A final time…Hannibal has planned a ‘Last Supper,’” Will muttered, clenching the letter tightly in his hands. 

Chiyoh regarded him coldly. Will could tell she was only here for Hannibal’s sake and, if it had been up to her, Will would have been thrown off another train. 

“Yes. I believe he said the word ‘closure’ at some point. It is as the letter says. He just wants to eat with you for a ‘last supper’, as you say.” 

“Hannibal was just convicted as a cannibalistic serial killer, how the hell is he allowed visitors, let alone a meal with one?” 

Chiyoh leant against the side of his house and folded her arms. 

“Well, Hannibal was sent to Chesapeake Detention Facility, a maximum security federal prison in Baltimore. Hannibal is kept in a hall of his own, where he is the sole prisoner.” 

“Why, Chiyoh?” Will asked when she didn’t offer an explanation. She pursed her lips. 

“Before they could even transfer Hannibal from the courthouse, Hannibal found the man in the holding cell next to him, some man by the name of Miggs, to be quite crude with some of the female staff. Later that day, Miggs was found dead in his cell. He swallowed his own tongue,” she said, her eyes darkening. 

“They didn’t have proof Hannibal did it, but the other inmates attested that Hannibal manipulated Miggs into doing it. If they hadn’t already planned on isolating him, they decided then. Then they transferred him to the secure hall, where he has the only cell. They let him have some books, and his drawings, and they accommodate some visitors. I think they are scared of him, of what he would do if they said no,” Chiyoh said, straightening up again. 

Will looked down at the note in his hand once again. He knew he was powerless to say no. The yearning that sat heavy in his chest had become a reliable companion. There was really no point pretending otherwise, no point pretending he could miss an opportunity to see him.  _ Six weeks… a final meal... _ His heart clenched. 

“Okay. I will come,” he said quietly. If she was surprised he’d agreed, she didn’t give any indication that was the case. She nodded slowly. 

“We leave in a half hour. You will drive,” she said as she pushed past him and opened his door to walk into his living room. He raised his eyebrow but followed her inside without comment. Chiyoh sat in one of the chairs by the fire. When Will just stared at her, she looked at him expectantly. 

“What?’ he asked, confused once again. She didn’t bother to hide her irritation. 

“You know Hannibal. He will find it rude if you show up to this ‘Last Supper’ in old clothes that reek of motor oil,” she said, gazing accusingly at his ratty plaid shirt. He huffed.  _ Oh for fucks sake, he’s such a pretentious ass… _ He found himself walking towards his closet within seconds nonetheless. 

A half hour later saw Will- much more suitably dressed in black slacks and gray button down with a black tie- and Chiyoh riding into Baltimore in absolute silence, save Chiyoh’s occasional utterances regarding directions. 

An hour later, Will pulled onto a long road leading to the prison. Incredibly high fences with barbed wire encircled a rather large plot of land with a nondescript, flat-edged gray building that was several stories high sitting right in the middle. Watch towers were posted frequently along the fence, making Will slightly nervous- and paranoid- that they could see right into his head and read his own incriminating thoughts. 

Will stopped next to a little building that sat right next to the electronic gate that would allow them into the parking lot. A stern looking man with a buzzcut asked to see his ID and several other questions about their visit- all of which Chiyoh answered briskly- before pressing a large button that opened the gate slowly. Will nodded his thanks and drove through the gate and searched for a parking spot. When Will had parked, he turned to look at Chiyoh. 

“Now what? And why did you lie about who I’m here to see?” 

“There are five stories and a basement to this prison. Hannibal is in the basement, in Block D, all the way at the opposite end from the elevator. Once you enter Block D, walk until you reach a wall, then take a right. There are three hallways- walk to the last one. You will then go through a gate to that hallway, and Hannibal’s cell is the only one in there- at the end of the hall. You will see him.

“There is one more thing. Hannibal is not  _ technically _ allowed visitors. But, Hannibal has a group of guards and staff that are willing to do things for him. That includes sneaking you in tonight. So be careful”

“And you’re just telling me this now?” asked Will incredulously. She blinked

“Hannibal said better to tell you here than before we left, on account of your ‘worrying,’” she smirked. “We will go in together. We are going under the premise of me visiting my uncle. I will have one hour of visitation with our contact- my ‘uncle’- during which you will be escorted downstairs to see Hannibal. Yes?” 

Will had half a mind to turn around now, before it was too late. But his heart gave him no other option. 

“Yes,” he said, nodding once before hopping out of the car. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Chiyoh mumbled under her breath at him as they walked through the front doors of the prison. Will ignored her and ran his hands through his hair again, pausing to run his finger idly over the scar on his forehead. 

After being thoroughly patted down and shoved through metal detectors, Chiyoh and Will walked towards the front desk, where a similarly stern looking man looked up at them expectantly. Chiyoh cleared her voice. 

“Hello. My fiancé and I are here to see Yuuto Ishida,” Chiyoh said matter-of-factly. The guard typed on a computer briskly and printed them two little badges which they then clipped to their clothing. 

After sitting in hard plastic chairs in the midst of the grey and dreary slate interior, another man- young and less stern this time- walked up to them. 

“I’m here to take the two of you to Mr. Ishida,” he said. Chiyoh nodded. 

“The weather is nice today, yes?” Chiyoh asked as soon as they were alone with the man inside the elevator. His eyes flickered to her. 

“Indeed. The skies are quite clear,” he responded simply. Will frowned in confusion but as he saw Chiyoh visibly relax and nod at him, he realized it must have been some sort of code for ensuring the plan was still good to go. 

The elevator began to move, but it began to descend instead of taking them to the fourth floor where Mr. Ishida was waiting. 

“My mistake, pressed the wrong button” the man said, without sounding like it had been a mistake at all. The doors opened as they reached the basement level and Chiyoh nudged Will out. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw Chiyoh and the man watching him expressionlessly as the doors closed. Then they were gone. 

Will looked around and saw nothing but a dimly lit basement full of dark corridors. Every couple of hundred feet there were fluorescent lights that flickered like torches would against the wall of a cave. He walked forward tentatively and, having entered into an area with slightly more light, he could see that he was essentially in one long corridor with four hallways. He peered at the small sign closest to him, which read ‘Block A.’

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he began to make his way down the hall, the  _ clack, clack _ of his shoes the only noise that filled the hall. He was a little distressed by the fact he hadn’t seen any guards or staff. It certainly seemed like a basement they used to shove away the things that scared them. 

Eventually, he reached Block D. He walked past the sign post until he reached the wall Chiyoh had mentioned. He looked to his left and frowned. It was quite dark- there were no lights to this side of the hall- and he could swear he felt a draft. Shivering, he backed away from the dark expanse and towards the hallway to the right where Chiyoh had told him to turn.

He walked down to the third hallway and when he turned down the hall, he was relieved to find it slightly more well lit and he could even hear a faint sound of voices. A solid metal door stood at the end of the hallway and off to the right of it was a small room. Will walked to the door and came face to face with the first person he’d seen in the entire basement. A man in his thirties sat in a chair with his feet up on the desk in front of him. 

The man just stared at Will expectantly. Will swallowed, unsure of what to say. His gaze flickered to the computer that sat on the man’s desk. The man followed his gaze and belatedly realized he’d left open a tab of porn. He quickly closed the browser and pulled up the screen Will assumed he was supposed to have on- a live video feed of a large glass cell. Will could see Hannibal sitting at a desk, drawing. 

The man looked back up at him, smacking the gum he was chewing on. 

“You hear to see the cannibal?” he asked boredly. 

“Yes,” said Will shortly. The man just raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else, shrugging as he reached forward to press a green circle button. The metal wall emitted a loud buzzing sound and began to slide open. Will watched it for a moment before turning to thank the guard but paused when he saw the man had already resumed the porn. He sighed and walked through the door and heard it begin to close behind him. And just as Chiyoh had promised, straight ahead at the end of a relatively long empty hall was Hannibal. Will had to remind himself to breathe. 

The ‘hallway’ leading down to Hannibal were just long concrete walls. No other cells were down here- it was literally a ward just for Hannibal. 

The end of the hallway turned into Hannibal’s cell, if that was an accurate name for it. A room, perhaps, would describe the sight that greeted Will. The room was roughly the size of Hannibal’s office. It was a cold-looking sterile white room with bright fluorescent lights. But Hannibal had been fortunate, it seemed. He had a large amount of books lined up neat little columns on the floor against the back wall. He had a small cot up against the right wall in the back corner and in front of the bed and in the front corner of the room was a desk, pushed up against the wall. He had pinned what must have been at least twenty extravagant drawings to the wall above the desk. 

In the back corner on the left side of the room, a short wall jutted out from the side of the wall- a modest partition to the corner that was a shower. A toilet and sink were on the wall right before the shower. The cell didn’t have any bars like Will had expected. Instead, there was just a large thick glass wall with tiny holes punched out along the middle. Will had no idea where the door was. The overall effect reminded Will of a lizard’s terrarium. 

Will began walking slowly towards the glass wall, a surreal feeling overwhelming him. He stopped within a few feet of the glass and waited. Hannibal stilled, his hand ceasing its relentless shading of the drawing before him. 

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal said without turning to look at him. 

“Dr. Lecter,” Will provided in a flat tone. That got Hannibal’s attention. He placed his pencil down purposefully and stood slowly before walking to stand right in front of Will on the other side of the glass. 

“You know Will, it is customary to return a letter to its sender, indicating one’s acceptance of an invitation. “ Répondez s'il vous plaît.” R.S.V.P., as you are likely to know it. I had not thought it necessary to, quite literally, spell that out for you on your invitation,” Hannibal said in an airy tone. Will fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Believe it or not, Dr. Lecter, I do actually possess a modicum of social grace,” Will said sarcastically. “But seeing as I was just made aware of your invitation a few hours ago by a rather irritated Chiyoh, I did not find the time.” 

Will could see the slightest uptick in Hannibal’s lips as he tried to hold back a small smile. 

“I was correct then in assuming you had not braved the trek to your mailbox in several weeks, as your lack of response suggested. Nevertheless, I am delighted to have your company for dinner,” Hannibal said with a more apparent smile this time. 

Will watched Hannibal thoughtfully, quietly assessing. Part of him still couldn’t believe he was here in front of him, just on the other side of the glass. A larger part of him still wanted to wrap his hands tightly around Hannibal’s neck and watch the light leave his eyes. 

There was a small wooden bench a few feet behind Will that he now went to sit down on. Hannibal turned his desk chair towards the glass and sat, folding one leg over the other and clasping his hands over his knee. He gazed at Will thoughtfully. 

“Ms. Lounds has been publishing quite the theories about you, Will. About us,” he added as an afterthought. This time Will did roll his eyes. “She has branded us with a new name. She called us ‘Murder Husbands’ in her article a week ago, and I understand it has gone viral. She has profited off of it, for sure. Seems we are a hot commodity,” Hannibal provided with a playful glint in his eye. Will huffed in annoyance. 

“The last time I saw Freddie, I told her you’d prefer if I “followed through in ‘slicing the ginger’ this time,”” Will said bitterly. 

“Indeed, I would,” Hannibal replied. Will couldn’t help but offer a small smile at that. A couple of moments of silence passed by. 

“Why am I here, Hannibal?” Will asked quietly. Hannibal didn’t respond right away, opting instead to gaze at Will before smoothing down the front of his pale grey jumpsuit. 

“It is as my letter said. I wanted to share a final meal with you, Will,” Hannibal said. Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes but couldn’t necessarily detect deceit. He let his shoulders relax slightly as he glanced at his watch. 

“I have forty minutes, Hannibal, before I need to leave. Chiyoh will be waiting.” 

Hannibal gave a small nod and briefly stared at his own clock in his cell. 

“They usually bring me dinner around this time,” he glanced back at Will with a frown. “I am truly sorry I couldn’t cook for you. There is nothing that would bring me greater pleasure than for you to dine with me once again, as we once did.” 

Will knew he meant dining as they had before Italy. Before Will’s betrayal. The night they dined  _ on _ Randall. 

“That night was real to me, Hannibal. All of it,” Will said before he could stop himself. Hannibal leaned back in his chair. 

“I know, Will.” 

A loud bang off to the left of Hannibal’s cell startled Will. Hannibal, with a look of barely concealed annoyance, stood from his chair and walked over to what had been the sound of a hidden door in the wall opening. A short black woman stood in the door frame behind bars sliding a tray of food through the small opening. 

“Brenda, is there any way you could bring some dinner for my friend? I’m afraid I made a promise to dine with him tonight,” Hannibal said to the woman with a charming smile. She sighed but nodded nonetheless. She disappeared from view but came back holding a second tray, which she passed to Hannibal. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Hannibal said with another smile to which she just nodded with a raised eyebrow before turning on her heel and disappearing from sight. Hannibal closed the wall-that-was-a-door with his foot and walked to his desk to set his tray down. He then walked to a small box built into the glass in the left corner. Will walked over to the box and opened the little door and reached for the tray.

Hannibal didn’t let go. Will looked up to see Hannibal staring at him, eyes soft. Will froze as he stared into Hannibal’s eyes, just a foot away from him with only the thin layer of glass between them. But as soon as he allowed himself to feel a swell of affection for Hannibal, he shoved it down and cleared his throat as he turned to walk back to his bench. Hannibal followed suit, with a sadness so well hidden that even Will could not- or would not- see. 

Will stared down at the sad offering on his tray. He placed the tray off to the side and grabbed the bread roll, alternating it between his hands as he stared at his feet. Hannibal placed his tray on his desk but didn’t touch his food. 

“This food bears an uncanny resemblance to the shit they fed me at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I’m sure you’re quite offended by this,” Will said, gesturing roughly to the food. Hannibal shrugged. 

“I assure you, I am okay, Will. I will not complain.” Will chewed on his bread thoughtfully. 

“Did I ever tell you how I regained my memory of you shoving Abigail’s ear down my throat?” 

“Come to think of it, no, you did not,” Hannibal said, shifting forward slightly in his chair. 

“I was eating a ‘steak’ that looked quite similar to what’s on this tray, and then I began choking. And as I was choking, I started to get these flashes of you holding my face, holding my throat back, shoving it down…” Will trailed off, still disturbed by the memory. 

“Don’t let Ms. Lounds hear you talking like that, she may get a very different idea about what it was exactly that I was ‘shoving down’ your throat,” Hannibal smirked. 

Heat instantly rose to Will’s cheeks and they turned pink from the implication. He stared down at his shoes but thinking about her ear had brought up a fresh wave of sadness about Abigail. 

“Do you ever see Abigail?” Will asked Hannibal suddenly, raising his eyes to meet Hannibals’. Hannibal tapped his fingers against his legs in thought. 

“I see her everywhere… and nowhere. She has several rooms of her own in my memory palace, and oftentimes, I come across the two of you, always waiting for me to join you. I find myself in those moments imagining the life I would have loved to build for her, Will. And you. For all of us.” 

Will tried to hold back his tears but found he could not. A few trickled down his face and he brushed at them irritably. Abigail’s smile and trusting eyes were stained on the back of his eyelids. He looked to Hannibal again. 

“You deserve this, for what you did to her. I was right to reject you,” Will said, standing and walking to look down on Hannibal still seated in his chair. Anger filled within him and he tried to keep his voice from shaking as it took on a harsh tone. 

“I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing you. I knew you wanted me to know exactly where to find me. You turned yourself in so I would always know exactly where you are. You’d only do that if I rejected you.” 

Hannibal looked down then, just briefly, before pulling himself to his feet. He stared down at Will who, for all his rage, couldn’t manage to look away. 

“You caged me, then? Set another trap, and watched the springs break free. What a cunning boy you are Will,” Hannibal said. Despite the note of pride in his voice, Will could detect an authentic underlying hurt but fought to ignore it. 

“Quid pro quo, Doctor. You caged me, I caged you, ” Will said gruffly.

“Tell me Will, when you trapped me, did you think it would end like this?” prompted Hannibal, cocking his head to the side. “Is being tied down to a gurney and lethally injected before a room of witnesses the ending you had in mind for me? Is that your design? I must confess Will, if this is your becoming, I admit I am quite disappointed.” 

Will didn’t say anything. He couldn’t deny that the powerful desire that laid in wait behind a carefully guarded door in his mind craved a more  _ intimate  _ ending for Hannibal. 

“I’m curious, Will. Will I find your face among the witnesses when that fateful day comes? Will you berate yourself for giving me such an unpoetic ending? Will you wish it was your hands instead, ripping my life away from me?” Hannibal gazed at him intensely. It was too much for Will; he felt raw and exposed, as if Hannibal could see and analyze every inch of him. 

And yet he found himself yearning to touch him. He reached up and touched his hand to the glass, surprised to find he wasn’t shaking. He took a moment and let himself breathe out a sigh. Hannibal glanced at Will’s hand splayed on the glass and regarded the slip in Will’s mask with curiosity. Hannibal didn’t touch his hand to Will’s. 

“Goodbye, Hannibal,” Will whispered softly, letting his hand drop back to his side. He tore his gaze away from Hannibal’s and turned his back on him, walking back the way he came. 

“Will. Was it good to see me?” Hannibal asked. Will stopped in his tracks and turned back towards Hannibal, a look of tortured incredulity on his face. 

“Good? No,” he said before turning on his heel once again and leaving Hannibal well behind him. 

Chiyoh was waiting for him when the large metal door buzzed and opened for him. He walked briskly through the passageway and brushed past her, desperate to get out of Hannibal’s airspace. Chiyoh didn’t miss a beat, falling into step with him as they walked out of Hannibal’s hallway and began making their way back through the concrete maze. 

They came to the wall Chiyoh had mentioned and Will stopped, staring straight ahead into the wide hallway that was pitch black. Will turned his head to the side subtly, picking up a faint scent of earth. He turned to Chiyoh. 

“What is this?” he said, gesturing vaguely to the cavernous opening before them. Chiyoh spared it a glance but rounded the corner and kept walking. Will lengthened his stride to catch up with her. 

“Underground road. Secure transport in and out of the prison. That is how they brought Hannibal in.” 

“Why?”

“I believe they thought it would be best if Hannibal didn’t see where he was, what the building looked like. They put him in the back of a van and covered his head and took him straight to his cell. 

“They want to keep him in the dark, like a sea devil. They think this will stop Hannibal from escaping. They are foolish. Hannibal does what he wants.” Chiyoh pressed the elevator button and stood patiently, completely still. Will, on the other hand, was a jittery mess. Or, he at least felt like it. 

“Do you think Hannibal will die?” he asked, looking at her shoulder out of the corner of his eye. She did not meet his eyes as they rode the elevator back up to the ground floor. 

“You caged him. He is your prisoner, not mine. His life is in your hands,” Chiyoh said softly, the words falling from her mouth like a cascading waterfall- one capable of beauty and comfort yet held potential for irreparable damage. 

They didn’t speak again the rest of the way back home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!!
> 
> I am so excited to keep writing this!! Stay tuned to find out what Will is gonna do ;)


	17. Primavera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! I included the (basic) lyrics at the beginning, but the song 'My Body is a Cage' by Arcade Fire was inspiration for this fic! i recommend listening to it before you read to set the mood ;)

_ ****** _

_ My body is a cage _

_ That keeps me from dancing with the one I love  _

_...But my mind holds the key _

  * _My Body is a Cage, song by Arcade Fire_



_ ****** _

_ Moonlight spilled from an unusually starry night to illuminate two figures, dancing in the shadows.  _

_ Trees creaked in the wind and the slight rustle of leaves made the taller of the two figures stop in his tracks, head cocked to the side in curiosity.  _

_ The second figure, crouched at a respectable distance behind the first, froze among the shadows.  _

_ But the first breathed in a prolonged sniff, almost as if it were savoring rather than analyzing.  _

_ The second figure growled in impatience and leapt out of the shadows, hands outstretched to the figure who had his back turned to him.  _

_ The figure turned abruptly, illuminating his face. Hannibal’s face in the moonlight produced a most eerie glow; though he was the one being hunted, the predatory gleam in his eye shone ever brighter.  _

_ The second figure crashed into Hannibal, tackling him to the ground. Hannibal looked up to see the moonlight reveal what he had already known to be Will’s face. Hannibal smiled, causing Will to snarl and send his fist into a collision with Hannibal’s nose.  _

_ Blood sprayed against Will’s knuckles, the warmth a most welcome sensation. He immediately brought up his fist again for a second taste, but Hannibal’s hand flashed out to grab his wrist. Taking advantage of Will’s momentary pause, Hannibal brought one of his legs out from Will’s and used the leverage to flip them over.  _

_ Hannibal straddled himself over Will’s legs, keeping them locked in place. Will struggled, pulling at the back of Hannibal’s hair roughly. Hannibal, however, clasped both of Will’s wrists and pinned them above his head.  _

_ Will heaved breathlessly, staring up at Hannibal with an expression so intense that Hannibal could almost swear there were fires burning in the depths of his pupils. He leaned close to Will’s ear, his breath warm and soft against Will’s neck. Hannibal could feel Will’s heartbeat quicken even more.  _

_ “Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears quite black.” Will stared at him, still riding the high of the chase.  _

_ “Yours is my favorite sight,” he spat.  _

_ Hannibal’s gaze darkened at that.  _

_ “I think I’ll eat your heart, you remarkable boy,” Hannibal said, slipping his hand under Will’s shirt to touch Will’s fiercely beating heart.  _

_ “Not if I eat yours first, Dr. Lecter,” said Will gruffly into Hannibal’s ear. Will took advantage of the momentary looseness in Hannibal’s grip to slip out from under him, jumping to his feet and kicking the back of Hannibal’s waist to the ground, causing his head to crash into the forest floor. A new spurt of blood stained the leaves.  _

_ Will grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and flipped him onto his back. It was Will’s turn to straddle Hannibal. Will ripped open Hannibal’s shirt, exposing his pale flesh. Hannibal grinned through the blood.  _

_ Will grabbed his knife from his back pocket, the steel glinting briefly in the moonlight before being plunged into Hannibal’s sternum and dragged straight downward. Hannibal panted but didn’t let out any sign of pain. In fact, he kept his eyes glued to Will’s.  _

_ “Is this your becoming, Will?”  _

_ “Yes,” Will breathed, marveling at the blood coating his hands. “It really does look black in the moonlight,” he added with a tone that could be described as nothing else than lustful.  _

_ Hannibal smiled at that.  _

_ “You… magnificent...c-creature,” Hannibal gasped out. Will looked serenely down at him.  _

_ “This… is my design,” Will said before he buried his hand in Hannibal’s chest cavity, closing in on his heart. Hannibal’s eyes struggled to remain open but were nonetheless transfixed on Will’s face. Will leaned in and watched the light leave Hannibal’s eyes as he ripped his heart from his chest.  _

_ Black rain showered Will as his hands, shaking, brought Hannibal’s heart to his mouth. Will bit down, feral, and tore into it chunk by chunk.  _

_ Two figures were illuminated in a forest clearing.  _

_ One, lifeless, torn to shreds after his heart had been ripped from his chest. _

_ The other, standing above, victorious; transformed.  _

Will woke up screaming, drenched in sweat. His dogs howled in a panicked sort of imitation until the whole house was just an outpouring of auditory energy. His limbs shook as he shivered from the sweat turning cold against his body. When he finally found himself hoarse, Will took several deep breaths. He threw off the covers, stomped to the bathroom, and ran himself a cold shower. 

He was horrified. Horrified at what he’d done to Hannibal, terrified of what he’d seen himself become. And yet… Will couldn’t deny that the adrenaline had been arousing; the power and sheer  _ justice  _ he’d exacted had him feeling… righteous. He fucking  _ craved _ it. 

_ Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains covering large glass windows to illuminate two figures, dancing in the shadows.  _

_ A steady panting and the quiet rustle of sheets were the only sounds to be heard in the entire bedroom.  _

_ One of the figures moaned lowly, his head thrown back in sheer pleasure.  _

_ The figure crouched above him laughed softly as he pulled back to admire the figure below him.  _

_ The first figure growled in impatience and tugged the figure down towards him before rolling over him to straddle him.  _

_ The shift in position positioned Hannibal perfectly under the moonlight, his hair spilling out from his crown like a halo against the pillow. He smiled fondly at the man above him.  _

_ Will smiled back before a more predatory grin took over. He ran his fingers through Hannibal’s hair gently at first before pulling tightly backwards, baring Hannibal’s throat to him.  _

_ Hannibal snarled in irritation but the sound quickly died as Will’s mouth latched on to his neck, worrying the skin under his lips to form bruises.  _

_ Will ran the length of his cock against Hannibal’s leg, causing Hannibal to inhale sharply. Will kissed along Hannibal’s jaw before ghosting his lips over his ear.  _

_ “Have you ever made love in the moonlight, Hannibal? It is quite ethereal.”  _

_ “I haven’t with you,” came Hannibal’s soft reply.  _

_ Will’s cock twitched at that.  _

_ “I own your heart, Dr. Lecter. It is mine.”  _

_ “Yes.”  _

_ Their lips crashed together once more and Will’s hunger intensified. He began to thrust against him, snaking his arm up to Hannibal’s neck.  _

_ He gripped Hannibal’s neck tightly and bent over him, gazing fiercely into his eyes.  _

_ He brought his other hand to rest over Hannibal’s heart, which quickened under his ministrations.  _

_ “Mine,” Will said as he thrust inside of Hannibal, groaning at the intense heat and pleasure of it.  _

_ Hannibal’s hands held his hips tightly as his head was thrown back, his eyes never leaving Will’s face. His expression was nothing short of adoring.  _

_ Will brought his forehead to Hannibal’s and wrapped his arms tightly around him, holding him close to his chest as he kissed along Hannibal’s jaw desperately and with his own form of adoration.  _

_ Two figures danced in a home built for two. _

_ One, content, having finally given his heart to the one he adored.  _

_ The other, positioned above, victorious; transformed.  _

This time, Will did not wake up screaming. He slowly opened his eyes to take in the early morning light. He tried to ignore the fact that he was painfully hard, but when his eyes caught sight of the still-damp towel on the floor from his panicked shower in the middle of the night, the arousal diminished quite quickly.  _ Fuck _ .  _ Why the fuck am I such a mess? _

He had been experiencing this whiplash in the content of his dreams for the past three weeks, ever since first returning home from visiting Hannibal in prison.Will had thought that the more time that had passed since their visit, the more likely he’d be to begin moving on. Or at least preparing to move on for after Hannibal was executed-- which was now just three short weeks away. 

But instead, he’d found that his nights were filled with tortuous images of him giving in to his desires, both the murderous and romantic alike, oftentimes simultaneously. His days were hardly better; he spent most of his time either trying to drive away the visions of the previous night or replaying past conversations with Hannibal on a constant loop in his head. Fishing, fixing boat motors, and schoolwork didn’t seem capable of providing the kind of relief he needed. 

Will busied himself with making some coffee and sighed when he heard a knock at the front door. He frowned when he realized it was only seven in the morning but grudgingly walked towards the door anyway, not even bothering to pull pants over his boxers before he swung the door open. 

Jack was on the other side, face grim. He held a box under one of his arms and dipped his head to Will. 

“Hey, Will,” he said. 

“Jack.” 

“May I come in for a moment?” 

Will just nodded and stood back to let Jack past him. Jack didn’t walk towards the chairs in the living room but instead opted to stand just inside of the doorway. 

“Listen, Will. You look like shit. You probably feel like shit. And I’m sorry to probably make matters worse, but I felt obligated to give you this,” he said, looking down at the box he held. It was small, like one someone used to pack their belongings up at work. Will couldn’t help the curiosity that surfaced. 

“What is it?” he asked. Jack sighed. 

“Well, seeing as Hannibal is officially scheduled for execution, they’ve emptied his properties of his belongings. In this box are some of his personal objects that we felt best belonged with you.” 

Will swallowed. He didn’t say anything. He was silently grateful, and mad at himself for even feeling that way. And yet, he didn’t want to reach out for the box. He didn’t want to show Jack he wanted it. 

Jack seemed to be studying him, curious of what he would do. When Will just sighed softly, Jack took the hint and set the box on Will’s desk and clapped him on the shoulder on his way out without another word. 

When Jack had gone, Will sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the box. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d find inside. Hannibal wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. 

Will opened the top of the box carefully and peered inside. He was hardly surprised to see that the majority of the stuff in the box were papers of some sort, whether it was sheet music or drawings. 

Realizing there was quite a bit to sift through, he sat down on his bed and pulled the box closer to him. The first folder he opened appeared to be original compositions. Will flipped through several of them-most titles were in languages Will didn’t recognize- until one title in particular stilled his hand. 

The composition was entitled ‘ogni giorno, per sempre.’ A quick google translation confirmed Will’s suspicion that the language in question was Italian. It translated to ‘everyday, forever.’ He was immediately reminded of Italy, and their long awaited reunification in front of  _ Primavera _ , and what Hannibal had said to him then. 

_ “If I saw you everyday, forever, Will, I would remember this time.” _

Smaller script underneath the title read “For Will.” Will felt his heart stop. He traced Hannibal’s elegant script in wonder. In this moment, Will would have given everything to hear Hannibal play it for him. 

When Will was finally able to tear his eyes away from ‘Everyday, Forever,’ he thumbed through several more songs and slowly came to the realization that the songs were all about him. There indeed was one called ‘Primavera,’ but there was also an ‘Ortolans’ and a ‘Quiet of the Stream.’ 

Will was both surprised but also… not. It was a feeling similar to remembering something from your childhood that became more and more clear as others provided more detail to the story. Will knew, or at least was admitting to himself now, that he knew a lot more about the emotion behind these compositions than he’d previously deluded himself into believing. 

There were also several drawings within the box. He handled them carefully, not wanting to smudge the graphite, but couldn’t resist running his fingers over a drawing that made his heart melt. Hannibal had drawn all of Will’s dogs- Buster in fact- playing in front of Will’s fireplace. He set that one off to the side with a small smile on his face. 

There were, of course, several sketches of Will. Many of them were of Will caught in rare moments of happiness, the dimple in his smile clearly a favorite of Hannibal’s. In some sketches, Will had been inserted into classics like ‘Primavera.’ 

Will was about to place the box back on his desk, thinking he had seen everything, when a small black notebook in the corner of the box caught his eye. He reached for it, undid the strap holding the book shut, and frowned in confusion at the equations scribbled page after page. 

They were incredibly complicated equations. Will tried to make some of them out, but all he could really gather is that most of the equations started with a ‘T.’ 

Will suddenly realized he’d seen this before. Hannibal had left this very notebook open on Will’s bed when he’d stepped out to talk to Chiyoh on the night they’d escaped the Verger Estate. 

_ “Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?” _

Then it hit Will- ‘T’ was ‘Time.’ This was a book full of theoretical equations about reversing time. Hannibal had been trying to reverse time; Hannibal had been hoping that the teacup had gathered itself back together again. 

The recognition of this fact made Will dizzy. He was incredibly confused. He’d known Hannibal had an obsession with him, but this… this was different.  _ Stop lying.  _ Will tried to ignore the voice in his head that fought to remind him of the truth- a truth he thought he’d known for some time now but could not bear to name. It was too ugly a thought.  _ It’s too beautiful a thought.  _

Will’s heart sank so far into his chest he felt it would surely disappear into the void of his soul. His head began to pound and he sat quickly to hold his head in his hands. Anxiety began to set in like lead in his lungs and Will did not want to face the feelings vying to be felt.  _ Fuck it _ . Will grabbed his keys from the keyring by the door and was driving numbly down the empty road with seconds. 

Will returned home half an hour later with the purposeful walk that overcomes an addict when they’ve committed to their chosen plan on self-destruction. For Will, it meant he was carrying whiskey and scotch back into the house even though he’d sworn he’d seen the last of the stuff. 

As he made his way back to the chair by his bed-  _ his chair _ -, he avoided Winston’s disapproving glare. He sank into the chair, opened the whiskey, and gulped desperately, craving the burning that followed. He wanted to burn the goddamn thoughts out of his head, the cursed feelings from his heart.  _ Damn if I’ll feel _ . 

Several fingers of whiskey later-  _ or was it hands? _ \- found Will passed out in the chair, the bottle hanging from his hand. He was so far gone he missed the knocks at the door and, having gone unanswered, the noise of Alana opening the door and walking into the living room. 

Will didn’t feel the bottle leave his hands and likewise did not register Alana heaving him over to the bed and pulling his shoes off. He missed the sympathetic look she glanced down at him with and the card she placed by his bed. By the time Will woke in the morning, he had no recollection of her having been there at all. 

But the fact she’d been by became quite clear when Will found himself face-to-face with the most unwelcome visitor he’d ever had the displeasure of seeing. 

“What gods have I pissed off so that they’ve sent me you?” 

“You’ve doubtlessly pissed off all of the gods, but alas, I come by the request of a mere mortal. Though a psychiatrist she is, Alana Bloom is no god. May I come in?” Bedelia said, raising her eyebrows. Will simply stared before finally stepping back and opening the door a quarter of an inch wider to let her in. 

Bedelia stalked inside, her black heels clicking annoyingly against Will’s wooden floors. She had a judgemental air about her and sat down maddeningly carefully on one of the chairs by the fire. She crossed her legs and gestured to the chair across from her expectantly. 

Will rubbed his temples in an effort to fight the hangover as he sat down. There was no use. He was miserable. He’d only been awake for an hour and yet he’d managed to make his way through another finger of whiskey or two already. 

“Will,” Bedelia said softly. Will glanced up, ready to tell her to fuck off with her sympathy, but instead he found her eyes cold. 

“I’m here as a professional courtesy to Dr. Bloom. I have a reputation to uphold. She has expressed she requested your presence at her wedding next week, but became quite worried when she found you in a rather pathetic state last night. I’m here to ensure you will go to this intrusive woman’s wedding so we can both go about our business. So you will go. Yes?” 

Will frowned. 

“I have no desire to attend a celebration of two women who literally got away with murder while Hannibal awaits execution for the crime  _ they _ committed,” said Will sourly. 

Bedelia laughed. Actually  _ laughed.  _ Will glared at her. 

“You can’t possibly be serious,” she said incredulously. “Mason Verger’s murder is hardly the tipping point that convinced the jury to sentence Hannibal with execution. You just don’t want to go to a celebration of love, not when it has landed you in such a perilous place yourself.” 

Will’s eyes shot up at that. 

“Perilous how?” 

Bedelia shifted, gaze assessing him coolly. 

“If your past behavior is any indication of future instability, I must conclude you are about to do something incredibly reckless. You’re impulsive, volatile. Your passion clouds your judgement and you become destructive. You are rapidly devolving. And if you do not stop, you will spill blood.” 

His blood turned to ice in his veins at her words. He could see it so clearly. His anger, his  _ affection _ for Hannibal, was nourishing the darkest parts of his soul, the parts of him that longed to rain down hellfire. 

“Were you not the one who claimed that I am no killer?” Will shot back once he’d gathered himself. She tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment. 

“You forget what I said after. I told you that you are capable of what  _ you _ think is righteous violence because you are compassionate. Your compassion towards Hannibal is inconvenient, Will, and quite possibly the spark that could ignite a flame within you.”

Bedelia watched the fear and longing filter across his face, interchanging with one another, melding together. It was endlessly fascinating. 

“It excites him to know the mere thought of him tortures you in this way.” 

Will looked up at her, eyebrow slightly raised. Confusion presented itself there but slowly began to crumble and fall from his face as realization set in and his mind could no longer protect him from the truth he’d known deep down for quite some time. 

Will’s heart beat so loud he could hear it echoing in his ears.  _ It couldn’t be… could it?  _

“Is Hannibal… in  _ love _ with me?”

“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes.” 

Will’s heart stopped. 

“But do you…  _ ache _ for him?” she asked, drawing out the word. 

_ Oh god, yes. With all my fucking heart, I crave him. _

But Will didn’t say any of that. Instead, because he didn’t trust himself well enough to lie, he didn’t answer at all. He slowly stood, walked over to his front door and opened it, gesturing Bedelia out of the door. 

Bedelia, naturally, had the gall to look affronted. Will just glared steadily until she finally stood, walking past him and sniffing in distaste.  _ Fuck you too, Bedelia. _ He slammed the door behind her. 

As soon as he heard her car door slam, Will sank down to the floor, back against his front door. He leant his head back and stared at the ceiling, praying that it would fall down on him so he could be relieved of making a decision about what to do next. 

Will knew intuitively that Bedelia did not tell Will about Hannibal’s love for him out of the goodness of her heart. He was sure she had some ulterior motive, but he was equally sure she was not lying. 

He ran his hands over his face.  _ Why did I lie to myself for so long?  _ Will tapped his fingers against his leg.  _ Because you wanted to believe the feelings you picked up from him were just your own, and in that way, you could repress them.  _ Will sighed. There had never been a hope of repressing his own feelings for Hannibal, not really. Despite how hard he tried, his heart kept pulling him back towards Hannibal. 

_ Stop. You have to stop yourself from giving in to your feelings for him. _

Will wanted to punch something.  _ I want to punch Hannibal. Fuck, I want to kiss Hannibal _ . He opted instead for grabbing Hannibal’s notebook and flipping back to the time reversal equations. He traced the elegant equations and let himself cry. His heart splintered.  _ I wish I could give you forever, Hannibal _ . 

But he couldn’t. He cradled the book to his chest and remained there for hours. 

****

Will begrudgingly tied the slender black tie around his neck, huffing about wasted time. He added a few drops of water to his hair in a pathetic attempt to tame his curls and shoved his glasses on. He really didn’t want to go to this wedding. 

But, Bedelia had made a good point, as much as he was loath to admit it. She had reminded him of what happens when Alana and friends think Will is “in trouble” or “needs help” and intervention from anyone was the last thing he wanted right now, especially with Hannibal’s execution only seven days away. 

The mere thought of it made Will’s stomach churn. He’d rather stay home and be miserable, but he knew that putting on a show and pretending to be okay with everything would hopefully work to his benefit in the long run. 

He drove the hour it took to arrive at the Verger Estate. Climbing out of his car and taking a cursory look around, he immediately wanted to turn around and speed out of there. There were so many people. So many  _ rich _ people, dressed in fine tailored suits and dresses, walking around the venue appreciatively. 

The venue was rather lavish. Given that the estate itself served as a backdrop, the decorations were similarly elegant. At least 300 chairs were set up in the garden, pointed towards a tasteful flowered altar at the front. Will stood as far back from the crowd as he could, kicking grass in an attempt to entertain himself. 

“Will! Nice to see you here, buddy,” came a genuinely excited voice. Will looked up to see Jimmy Price smiling at him. Will grimaced but then felt bad, so he then tried a small authentic smile. It was actually a little nice to see Jimmy. 

“Hey Jimmy, how are you?” Will said. 

“Well, now that you mention it actually, I’m doing great. Brian finally agreed to let me get a bee colony for the garden at home! It’s quite fascinating actually. Did you know that the male bees die after the Queen-” 

“Oh dear god, not this again,” cut in Z’s voice, but he was smiling affectionately at Jimmy even as he rolled his eyes. 

“Hey Will, good to see you. Hope you’re well,” Z said. 

“Yeah, yeah, you too…” Will said, faltering for more words. He had nothing to say. He sincerely did not possess any desire to talk with them. 

After the two of them quickly devolved into more bickering, Will made his escape. He pretended to show interest in signing cards of well wishes to Alana and Margot, but was incredibly grateful when people began sitting down and he was able to sneak into the back row a couple chairs from any one else in the row. 

As much as Will didn’t want to admit it- weddings were just  _ not  _ his thing- Alana and Margot did look stunning. Alana came out first, dressed in a flowing white dress that carefully concealed her growing baby bump. Margot opted for a bold black lace dress. Standing next to each other, they exuded confidence and power. Will was impressed and actually rather happy for them. 

But the ceremony did nothing to help Will’s own conflicted feelings when it came to Hannibal. Everytime the word ‘love’ was mentioned- which was incessant- Will’s stomach would churn with anxiety and he’d see Hannibal gazing at him when he closed his eyes. It made his heart  _ ache _ . 

But Will made it through the ceremony without incident. The reception was held in the large ballrooms of the estate and as soon as he had the chance, he walked up to Alana and Margot to congratulate them (and more importantly show that he was actually perfectly sane). 

“Will! I’m so glad you could make it! I was worried when I hadn’t heard back from you,” Alana said, pulling him into a tight hug. Will fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Yes, well, I apologize for that. Congratulations though, Alana, really. I’m happy for you. And I do really mean it when I say that you’ll make a great mother.” 

Alana beamed at that. Margot turned to face Will then. 

“That’s what I tell her, even though I always remind her I will undoubtedly be the cooler mom,” Margot said, smiling. Will offered a small smile at that.

“Yes, well, I don’t doubt that Margot,” he said. “Again, congratulations to both of you. I unfortunately have to-” 

“No, not yet Will! You owe me a dance before you go! I’ll be back in just a bit, but in the meantime feel free to mingle! There are several professors here I’m sure that would love to speak with you,” Margot said, smiling, as she turned to pull Alana to say hello to some other guests. 

Will sighed.  _ God, get me out of here _ . 

Will waited patiently for Margot at first. He felt like he owed her in some small way, at least as a way of acknowledging the kindness she’d shown him over the past couple months when he’d needed it. But as time wore on, he became increasingly more impatient and after the fifth psychiatrist tried to have a conversation with him, he tore away to the hallway and walked to the balcony nearby to get some fresh air. 

As he stood trying to calm down in the crisp early evening air, he heard muffled voices coming from the patio below. Walking over to the edge of the balcony, he glanced below and found a section of the patio dimly lit by candles and two figures dancing slowly to the waltz that drifted from the reception hall. 

Peering closer, Will recognized the two figures to be Jimmy and Z. Z held Jimmy tightly to his chest, and Jimmy had his eyes closed, content with being held. Z rested his chin on top of Jimmy’s head and leaned into him. They were talking softly, exchanging affirmations of love. Will could  _ feel _ the purity of the love that emanated from them. It quickly became too much. 

Will clenched his fist, tried to white-knuckle through the burst of pain in his heart. He wanted to be held by Hannibal just like how Jimmy was. He wanted to feel Hannibal press kisses to his forehead just like Z did. He didn’t just want it. He  _ needed _ it. 

Overwhelmed, Will took this as a sign it was time to leave. He stole back to his car and drove home silently, mulling his reactions over in his head. 

When he got home, he settled into a chair in front of a fire he’d just built and watched the flames dance across the ceiling. He closed his eyes and sighed.  _ I feel like I’m fucking on fire _ . His very soul seemed to be calling out for Hannibal, and it was a terrifying thought. 

When Will imagined them together, he often saw them drenched in blood, radiant in their power as commanders of Death. They shared ecstasy in killing together, and in these visions, Will and Hannibal were unstoppable. They were merciless. They tore open the world and its rules and exchanged it for vengeance, for righteousness. They slaughtered many and bathed in the blood without consequence. 

And Will was torturously tempted. He’d be able to be his most authentic self with Hannibal; he’d be able to finally stop fighting the darkness inside of him and just  _ be _ . 

He’d be able to surrender to the feelings that pulled him towards Hannibal for other reasons. He’d be able to lay his head on Hannibal’s chest and listen to his calm heartbeat. He’d get to feel what Hannibal’s hair felt like underneath his fingertips. Most of all, he’d get to see his intoxicating eyes everyday, forever. 

Hannibal may be confined to a literal prison cell, but Will felt like his own body was a cage. His heart desired unification with Hannibal, but his body would not allow it. 

He simply couldn’t. It wasn’t sustainable. It was a horrific thing to dream of. The bloodlust had to stop. Will knew that the time had come where he had to be the master of his own destiny. He had to stop himself from being with Hannibal, from becoming Hannibal. He knew then what he had to do. He had to kill Hannibal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took longer than expected!!! college classes are just taking up all my time :( but i am VERY excited for the next chapter, so stay tuned!!
> 
> thanks for all of the love and support!! y'all are awesome <3


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